


A Day in Hel

by tottiki



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Aromantic Asexual Hela, Aromantic Character, Asexual Character, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Trailer, BAMF Loki (Marvel), Blood and Gore, Dysfunctional Family, Family Feels, Gen, Hela (Marvel) does what she wants, Implied/Referenced Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-04-18 02:46:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 57,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14203374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tottiki/pseuds/tottiki
Summary: Loki is dead. And it is surprisingly… fine. Valhalla is the worst - for obvious reasons, but there are many other places for dead gods to go. To escape the insufferable dead Aesir, and help his mother reclaim something lost, Loki sets out on a heroic quest to Hel. It all goes pretty darn well - until he runs into his insane older sister Hela (also recently deceased) and things sort of start to spiral.





	1. Gnipahell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MagicalGirlHell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicalGirlHell/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Yeah. Those Infinity War trailers don’t look all that promising for my favorite god, and this is - I guess - my coping mechanism. Because for the Aesir, death is not the end, but rather, to quote Peter Pan of all people, the start of an awfully big adventure. 
> 
> Since many of the locations and characters depicted in this telling have yet to be shown in the cinematic universe, I have gone all out making stuff up, with everything from looks to spellings. Most of the choices are inspired either by the comics or the mythology, or both, and I do have good motivations for most of them (though some of them are simply “cus it would look really cool!”). If however anyone wishes to debate those choices in the comments below, I would be genuinely happy to do so, nerd it up with me people!
> 
> Finally. If this was a book and it had a dedicated to section, that dedication would go, hands down, to the magical MagicalGirlHell. If you have yet to read their amazing work, go do that now. And then maybe come back and read this later - if you have time. And magical girl, if you ever read this, consider this story my first stalkery love letter to your authorship and my payment of that debt you refused to collect on after the Supercruiser fic. Also. You inspired me to write this, so if it turns out terribly horrible, I shall blame you.
> 
> Anyways, let this epic telling commence!

Being dead was surprisingly… fine. 

Valhall was beautiful. It stood as large as the grandest palace in Asgard, more a city then a hall, really. It was a testament to the ancient power that must once have also filled Asgard - before some fool decided to cover it all up with gold. The halls where built in the deep gray stone of the Ur mountains. Runes long forgotten carved across the vaulting ceilings and the pillars that held them up. Murals depicting the lives and deaths of those residing behind them covered the walls. All around the hall, great forests and fields stretched out towards the mountains, filled with beasts and monsters of old. The forests crept up along the walls of Valhall itself, ancient gray rock hidden behind clinging green branches.

Not long ago, the gardens of the palace had too been overgrown, but that was before the arrival of the Queen. Frigga had taken it upon herself to make each park and courtyard traversable once more. With all the grace that could possibly be attributed a true Queen she had never sought to master the nature that had invaded her palace. Manicured, perfect gardens suited the golden castle in Asgard, but here, in the endless land of the dead, they simply would have seemed silly. Instead Frigga, with the patients of a goddess, had coaxed and guided the flowers and trees into shape. The plants had pulled away from the paths and gateways while still retaining their original wild strength. Now the gardens where frequently visited by the dead of Valhalla, and the flowers bloomed greater than ever before in jubilating joy and gratitude to their Queen.

The gardens where of course not the only place visited by the Aesir. The people of the First Realm where, even in death, as unruly as the greens that had invaded the halls where they resided. They ventured ever outside, into the woods and fields, hunting the animals and beasts that resided there and engaging in mock battle against one another. Every evening they would return to Valhall and hold a great feast in celebration of all they had accomplished, in life and in death. They would sing songs of the old days and listen eagerly to the new tales brought by the more recently dead. They would drink until they could no longer stand, and then they would fall asleep, still murmuring the last song between breaths. And the next morning, they would start it all over once again. Never tiring, despite each day being much the same as the last.

It was everything Loki hated about Asgard, only somehow worse. Drunk, brutal oafs, the lot of them. It was fine though, because Frigga was there. He could spend every waking moment in her company if he liked, and it was worth all of it. Even the increasingly ridiculous assassination attempts. 

The prince had avoided them at first. It had been as easy as anything, the Aesir weren’t famous for their subtlety. But he soon realised that if he just kept side-stepping their pathetic attempts they would never stop. The Aesir _were_ famous for their stubbornness after all. Warriors honored after the wars of Svartalfheim and Jotunheim weren't about to back down over a pesky little trifle like the person whose life they were trying to end already being dead. So Loki let them succeed. As far as that was possible. He was stabbed, strangled, drowned, beaten, and even, rather surprisingly considering who his assailants where, poisoned. None of it hurt, and none of it killed him. Because - beating a dead horse here - he was already dead. 

It worked pretty well, but what the trickster hadn’t taken into account was just _how many_ Aesir resided in Valhalla. No-one had yet made more than one attempt to his life (Death? How did that work, grammatically?), but everyone seemed to find it necessary to test the second prince’s unkillableness for themselves before they believed it. They were also not particularly creative in their attempts. It was mostly just swords, over and over again. As one might imagine, it all grew just as tedious as the endless feasts after a time.

It would have all been worth it, though, for Frigga. If it had not been for the sadness. He didn’t notice it at first. Or perhaps for the first few days, it was truly not there, overshadowed for a time by the joy of seeing her ever repentant son once again. Loki liked to think so. But on the third day of his stay in Valhalla, the God of Lies found his mother standing at the balcony of her chambers, clutching her arms around her chest as if against a cold not found in the gentle summer breeze. She was staring out across the fields to the mountains, and though he couldn’t see her face, Loki knew it was filled with sadness. When she heard her son, the Queen turned around and faced him, a sad little smile on her mouth that wouldn’t reach her eyes. They never spoke of it, but Loki knew what she was missing, and it gnawed at him like so many rats.

The solution came perhaps a week after the tricksters arrival in the Land of the Dead - there was really no point in keeping track of the time - and in a most unexpected fashion.

There was no library in Valhalla - “For what is the point in learning new things when one is already dead!” as Volstagg had so eloquently put it after drinking four barrels of ale and deciding that it was alright to speak to the fallen prince after all - so Loki had to make due by making his own writings when the urge to study came over him. This was why when the solution to all his problem found him, the god was sitting alone in one of his mother’s gardens creating a book aptly titled _The Heroic Return of Loki of Asgard_. The solution started at seeing the prince and froze in his tracks.

“If you are planning to chop my head of with that ridiculously sized sword of yours, may I ask a moment to put away my parchments? I’ve had to rewrite this section twice and it is getting rather tiresome.” Loki prince of Asgard told the new arrival as he looked up from his work. _Skurge. The replacement Gatekeeper._ His mind put a name and title to the man before he could point out to it that he really didn’t care. 

“My king- prince- Loki?” The heavily armour clad man greeted him, stuttering.

“My Loki? That’s a new one. No-one has laid claim to me in such a way since Odin All-Father.” Loki said, his predatory smile actually causing the warrior to take a step back, almost frightened. It only made his smile wider. “Though, I suppose it is fitting. You are here to take my life after all.”

“I. Uh. No. Actually, I was just. Walking.” The stuttering did not improve, but the warrior did take two steps forward, as if to compensate for his earlier fear.

“No? You do not wish to slay the monster?” the prince tilted his head to the side, reevaluating the Aesir before him. “Whyever not? It would help your own standing greatly, would it not? A traitor slaying an even greater traitor? The people would cheer at your redemption!”

“Well, all that’s really nice and everything. But seeing as we are already dead, I don’t see how, what did you say? Right. Chopping your head of, would do anything at all. Do you?” Skurge took another step forward, seemingly emboldened by his own deduction. Against his better judgement, Loki was actually somewhat impressed. He had appointed the Aesir Gatekeeper because he had been so eager, willing to do almost anything to prove himself. Including replacing one of Asgards most respected warriors in a position he had held for millenia. Really, he had been the only volunteer.

“You are a smart one aren’t you?” something eerily close to true terror passed across the Aesir's face as Loki complimented him. He was about to actually be offended by it, but then the warrior started laughing.

“Your not about to ask me if I want a job, are you? Because the answer is a firm no.” he shook his head slightly, eyes far away, remembering. “You Odinsbarn are all the same, huh?”

“Not really, no. Especially nowadays I make a point of being as different from my brother as possible.” Loki's eyes narrowed on the warrior. Where had all this come from?

“I wasn’t talking about Thor. Though I wouldn’t be surprised if he is the same too. I meant Hela. Your batshit sister.” he kept on shaking his head slightly, trying to shrugg of the memory. Loki wasn't sure how he felt about that. He was obviously almost creepily similar to his older adopted sister, at least in looks and actions, but to have someone else point it out was vaguely uncomfortable for some reason.

“That’s right. You worked for her for a time,” Loki trailed of from the insult he was about to throw out as part of his usual defense mechanism as a thought occurred to him. “Why isn’t she here? If she died fighting Surtur, that would have counted as death in honorable combat. If she died, she should be here. Shit. Does that mean she made it? After we _blew up Asgard_ to stop her? I should have…”

“She was here.” Skurge cut through the trickster's ramblings, and Loki cut them of immediately.

“She _was_ here? In Valhalla? And now she is not?” but that was impossible. People didn’t leave Valhalla. Ever. It was the final stop. Death and then eternity. Until Ragnarok and the rebirth of the world in flames.

“I don’t know how, but just after I arrived, so did she. I don’t think anybody else saw her. She went straight for me, tried to kill me for betraying her. You know, that whole schtick. When that didn’t work, she just up and left.” the warrior twisted uncomfortably at the memory.

“That’s it? She didn’t say anything before she left about where she was going? Us supervillains like to ramble on and on about our plans.” Loki questioned, small smirk on his lips at using the Midgardian term. He rather liked it, it sounded impressive.

“She certainly does.” Skurge agreed, actually smiling back at the prince for the first time since the start of their conversation. “During our- uh- time together, she wouldn’t shut up about all the ways in which Odin and the people of Asgard had wronged her and how they were going to pay horribly for it. When she came here though, she was much more tight lipped. There was something though. She mentioned Valhalla being a pointless place because of the no killing thing. Said she go and get herself a proper kingdom, somewhere more suited to her tastes. Oh. And something about her wolf being better than another wolf. Garth, maybe? Garll?”

“Hel.” it took less the a heartbeat for the God of Lies to realise where his sister would have gone looking for power. And if she could do it, surely it would be no trouble for him to do the same.

“Hel? You mean Hel as in ‘oh Hel my sister is crazy’ or Hel as in you think she went to the actual place?” Loki didn’t deign that with an answer. He was already walking away, deep in thought. Skurge made a feeble attempt at asking him again, but gave up quickly after that. Probably happy to have gotten out of an unwanted conversation with the unwanted prince.

\---

Armed with the knowledge that it did indeed exist, it took the second prince of Asgard only a few days to find the Gate to Hel. He was of a mind to simply step right through the gaping hole in the mountainside and venture of into the unknown, no questions asked, but something held him back. Frigga. He could not leave without seeing his mother one last time. He would tell her nothing. She did not need false hope for something that might be impossible, and she certainly did not need a sad goodbye from a son who had broken her heart so many times before. But Loki needed to say goodbye to her. Because he was selfish. Always had been, always would be.

The fallen prince found his mother in one of her beautiful gardens. She sat perfectly still on one of the low, gray stone benches, staring into the distance. He knew what she was thinking about, and he was going to fix that look of hers. Make her smile always and always. He took in the sight of her, a familiar trobe in his chest. _Guilt._

“Mother.” he called softly, no wishing to startle her. 

“My son.” she smiled brightly as she turned to face him. The smile fell away after a moment though, changing to a look of concern. “You have been gone a long time.”

“Three days is hardly a long time when you have forever.” the prince told her, still unable to skip the snarky little comebacks that had been his defense for so long. She only smiled, and so he relented and answer her unspoken question. “I was hunting.”

“Really?” eyebrows raised in disbelieving amusement. Whenever she put on that expression, he couldn’t help but remember his brother. Not the arrogant, bullheaded fool whom Loki had grown to hate. Nor the brooding, selfrighteus fool he had evolved into after his banishment. But of the man he had become just recently. The one who laughed with him and figured out his schemas before they came to fruition. And perhaps also of the child he had once been. When his mother continued, he just barely heard her; “I had always thought you hated the sport.”

“I suppose I was not hunting in the traditional Asgardian sense of the word. There was no killing of innocent animals just minding their own business.” he did not elaborate, and she did not ask. She hadn’t asked about anything since his arrival. They didn’t speak of the past. Not of the things she had done, and certainly not of the things he had. Only of the present. Of the gardens, of his books, of the many intrigues of Valhall’s court. Loki thought she was giving him time. Time she thought they had an eternity of.

The fallen prince leaned down and kissed the beautiful Queen who still refused to stop calling him her son on the cheek and made to leave.

“Where do you think your going?” the Queen’s words were all smiles. “Will you not stay and join you poor old mother for luncheon?”

She asked nothing else of him, ever, than his company, so how could he possibly refuse it? They spent the morning taking a calm meal in her chambers, speaking of simple things and laughing at easy jokes. When he made to leave this time, the Queen was the one to kiss him on the cheek, soft and gentle. He remained, perhaps a moment to long, to absorb her features. She noticed, smiling her quizzical smile and raising one light eyebrow. He stepped out of the room before she could ask.

\---

Finding the opening in the mountains was easy the second time around. It was not so much a cave as it was a ravine so deep that no sunlight reached the bottom. It tore through the mountain like the scar from a stab wound - thin and straight, only visible from just the right angle. The prince had flown over it in his stolen birdskin a number of times before even becoming aware that there was something there.

For that very reason, Loki was beyond surprised to find another being waiting for him at the opening when he arrived. He landed carefully a number of meters away from the other, but relaxed when he recognised the bald, bulky Aesir standing awkwardly before the entrance to the Underworld. Loki walked up to the warrior, casually, as if unconcerned by his presence and waited for him to speak.

“Loki,” the former executioner started, then trailed of, running a hand across his scalp. “You are going to Hel? To fight your sister?”

Two statements framed as questions. Strange for someone to come all the way out here without a clear plan or motive. The Aesir's words were, however, almost true, and so Loki nodded in agreement. No need for explanations.

“Then I will come with you?” how the warrior managed to frame that one as a question was beyond Loki. He sighed.

“And whyever would you wish to do that?”

“I betrayed Asgard. I let Hela slaughter my people and did nothing. Worse. I helped her. I need to redeem myself. Killing you won’t do that, no offence, but stopping whatever evil your crazy sister has planed just might.” Skurge drew in a deep breath after his little speech, looking like he had just done something downright exhausting.

“But you already have redemption. What I said to you when we last meet wasn’t true. You died a warrior's death, that makes you and Asgard even. You should know better than to listen to the God of Lies.” Loki gave the conflicted looking Aesir a crooked smile.

“Then maybe I won’t listen to what you just said.” the Aesir contested stubbornly. “Your going into Hel, for Bors sake. You need all the help you can get.”

Loki regarded the bald Aesir for a moment. Something about the situation was reminding him rather painfully of Thor. This man could have been a true hero, had he been allowed to live. He didn’t deserve Hel. Part of Loki hated him for that. Part of him came up with a plan. He looked away for a moment, shaking of his feelings. When he looked back at the fidgeting Aesir, his face was covered in a smile and he stretched out a hand.

“I suppose I could use that nice big sword at least.” he said the words in a sigh, as if he was surrendering, and Skruge took his hand easily. As their flesh meet, the broad Aesir froze, his entire body going rigid as Loki's magic spun into every part of it. Only Skurge’s eyes still moved, flicking about in panic, but the spell prevented all other movement, even facial expressions. It was inconvenient not to be able to read the others expressions. But Loki was tired of waiting, so the simple spell would have to do.

“I am sorry,” the prince of lies began, not feeling sorry in the least. “But I simply can not have you bumbling around behind me on this journey. You don’t need to go on some grand mission to prove you worth to the Aesir. In fact, in my experience, grand adventures hardly help at all. What you should be doing, if you truly want those buffoons to love you, is to take part in their games. Hunt with them, sing with them, drink with them. Do all the things that I refuse to do, and they will welcome you with open arms. The Aesir are simple, straight forward people. If they like you, they’ll forgive you. If they don’t… Well, you see for yourself if anyone but the Queen thanks me for this grand heroic quest I’m about to go on.”

His speech had grown a great deal more bitter than he had intended, which was annoying. It had probably gotten the point across though, and that was all that mattered. He sighed again, for real this time, and sent the Aesir that reminded him far to much of his brother away with a wave of his hand. The warrior had already started to fight against the bonds, making incomprehensible noises as he did, so it was probable the bindings would release him only moments after the transportation spell dropped him back of in his chambers in Valhall. The Aesir was strong. Loki understood why his sister had chosen him as her executioner. That strength also meant he might choose to attempt to follow the prince through Hel even without his permission. The thought of the Aesir unguarded in the land of the dead made Loki strangely uncomfortable, and so he left a simple blocking spell around the entrance to the ravine as he passed it, making sure none would follow him.

\---

As the God of Lies ventured deeper into the mountains and farther away from Valhalla, the ravine grew ever darker and ever broader, until it was a large, ecoing cavern. Light began to return as he walked on further, and soon he could see the same ancient runes as those of Valhall’s pillars adorning the cave walls. In the back of the princes mind, interest picked at his consciousness. One day he would have to study those runes, to find their meaning and perhaps even gleen some new magics from them. That day, however, was not today.

As Loki finally reached the exit, he was greeted by the wolf that Skurge had mentioned, the one Hela had been convinced that her Fenris could beat. Garm was enormous. Loki had heard stories, of course. Whispers of the monster guarding the Gate to Hel, but this was simply ridiculous. The wolf was a small mountain onto herself, claws stretching double the length of Skurge’s stupid sized sword as she lay sleeping before the entrance. There was no way Fenris could ever have beaten her, but if the prince was right, and he usually was, there wouldn’t have been any need for that.

There was no way to avoid confrontation, so Loki simply continued walking the way he had been, if a bit slower, not wanting to startle the guardian. She opened her eyes slowly, studying him with a flicker of curiosity as he came ever closer. He stopped but a few meters away from her nose, close enough to feel her breaths like wind on his skin. Close enough for her to take a bite of him before he could ever react.

“ _Another one of the Odinsbarn come to visit me._ ” she did not speak, but rather let him hear her thoughts directly. It was a tricky way to communicate. Much harder to lie when the other can _feel_ the emotion in you words. Fortunately, Loki was not planning to lie. He felt rather then heard her amused laugh at his acceptance of the link she had offered, before she continued. “ _What brings you here, Loki of Two Fathers_.”

“ _I wish simply for passage into the realm you guard, Garm of No Mothers._ ” he answered the great wolf truthfully, making sure to include in his message his knowledge of what her answer would be. It could not hurt to distance himself from his more murderous sibling. His cockiness made Garm laugh again.

“ _As you seem to well know, I do not guard from entrance into this realm. I seek only to stop those who belong but would yet attempt to leave_.” the wolf gave a frustrated snort that caught in Loki's cloak and almost made him stumble backwards. “ _Your sister was not so informed, but seemed happy enough to pass by when I tired of fighting her pet and stood aside. You have Odin's mind, youngest son, as your sister has his soul and you brother his heart. You would all be stronger together_.”

“ _All very true, Oldest of Wolves, but unfortunately we all also have his stubbornness_.” Loki heard the wolves laugh in his mind a third time, and found that he rather liked her, grim as she looked. He made to pass her, but the thought better of it. He might only have this chance after all. “ _What are you?_ ”

“ _Ever so curious as to the true state of things, God of Stories, whyever could that be?_ ” Garm laughed again. They both knew the answer to that question, it would seem. _Frost Giant_. It didn’t bother Loki that she knew at all. Perhaps it was because she herself was a gigantic wolf. “ _The truth then. I don’t know what I am little god. What is Asgard? What is Valhalla? What is Hel? Maybe one day you’ll tell me._ ”

“ _Perhaps,_ ” the prince agreed, not half as sure in that statement as she had seemed. “ _Until then_.”

Garm inclined her head ever so slightly as he passed her by. To his own surprise, he made her a full, formal bow, the kind he had not performed without sarcasm for centuries. He felt her satisfaction in his mind before she let the link go. He told himself she could not possibly have also felt the lonely wistfulness he heard through the bond as it was released. “ _Until then, little prince_.”

\---

Hel was as depressing as one might imagine. The place looked much like an endless desert. Grey sand stretch into rolling hills that never ended. Nothing grew in it, the only thing breaking the monotony were great grey boulders scattered across the landscape, casting long, dark shadows. Where the light came from that caused said shadows was rather unclear. The sky was covered in dark clouds and fog, only a subtle shade darker grey than the ground.

Farther into the desolate land, the God of Lies (Stories, Gram had said) begun to encounter creatures. It was what best he could call them. They had been Aesir once, but now they were no more than shadows. Clad in dark garments, with skin as grey as the world around them, they wandered aimlessly, or simply lay abandoned on the ground staring up at the uncaring sky.

This was where those Aesir who did not die heroic or honorable deaths came to spend eternity. Those who died at home in their beds, or with their heads at the executioner's block. This was a place for the weak and unworthy. Those who let death take them peacefully on a hill in Norway, or those who let go and fell, allowing the void to take them. Loki shuddered. This had seemed better then. But it had not been the will of the Fates. He walked on. Refused to look at the creatures surrounding him. Refused to remember falling.

Loki reached his destination feeling weaker then he had in a long time. Perhaps not since after Svartalfheim. He shrugged off that feeling, along with all the others, and steeled himself for his goal. In front of him was another cavern, perhaps taller even then the last one. The top of it faded in the mists, and for a moment the fallen prince thought he could see something large and scaly fly past far above him, before it disappeared into the dark. He stood very still watching the grey above him, but when nothing more happened, he was forced to keep moving.

The outer cave was not deep. It barely scraped a thin alcove into the mountain. From that first opening however, smaller tunnels spread out into heavy stone. Loki did not step into any of them. Instead, he moved to the center of that great outer alcove. There, as surreal as a hatters tea party, stood a long formal dining table covered in the finest and most luxurious foods, and surrounded by chairs that could only be described as ‘fancy’. One end pointed towards Loki and the outside, the other pointed into the cave. Beyond the table but before the wall of the cave there was a large dias, a short stone staircase leading up to it and a throne preached on top of it. The throne was empty. In fact, there was only a single living (dead) being to be seen. Sitting at the edge of the table facing the throne, with his back turned to the prince, sat the one he had come to find.

Odin All-Father looked smaller than he ever had. Crumbled like a dying flower in his seat. He was still wearing the same clothes he had been on that cliff in Norway, but they were dirtied, greyend and thorn. As Loki walked around him to the table, he could see the Aesir King's face was sunken, hollowed out, his eyes starring forward at nothing.

“All-Father.” he called, voice much calmer than he had hoped. The old god started, eyes slowly lifting to look at the one who had once been his heir.

“Loki,” his voice was a rasping whisper. It seemed to take him a moment to full realize what the word meant, and once he did, he asked; “What was the first weapon ever gifted to you by my hand?”

“Strange questions? Is that any way to great one who has traveled so far just to see you?” Loki asked back, half mocking, half afraid. What if Odin had lost his mind already? Then everything would be for nothing.

“She comes often, pretending to be you, pretending to be my wife, pretending to be your brother.” Odin spoke wearily, and the fear left Loki. “Now answer the question and then we may speak.”

“It was a dagger,” the fallen prince spoke without hesitation. “I thought it humiliating at the time. An embarrassment to be given such a fickle weapon next to Thor's great battle axe. I realized much later that it was the only weapon possible. It was the one that suited me best, and that it meant you understood me. At least in some small way. But by then it was far to late.”

“My son.” there was so much emotion in those two small words. Odin's face lit up and the gray fell away for a moment. Loki sat down in one of the seats along the side of the table, two chairs away from the ancient god. Feeling unsure what to do with himself.

“Am I? Still?” he couldn’t help but ask. It made him feel weak. Needy. But he _had_ to know.

“Of course. No matter what foolish things you decide to do, you can’t get rid of your family.” the old god said it with such clarity, such wisdom, that it was impossible to argue. So Loki went for a deflection instead.

“Am I to take that as a challenge?” lifting his eyebrows, smiling a smile he didn’t feel.

“If you must.” Odin smiled back at him, much more genuinely. “Why are you here, my son?”

More a demand then a question, but Loki was about to answer it anyways, simply out of habit, when a third voice joined the conversation.

“Yes, why are you here _indeed_ , little brother?” Hela came walking out from somewhere behind the throne and moved with the grace of a hunting cat down the steps towards the table, stopping by the chair at the table’s head. She was not wearing the skintight battle garments that were the only ones Loki had seen her in before. In their stead, she had donned a loose fitting dress in her signature dark green that flowed behind her on the floor. She was, however, still wearing her elaborate headdress, long spikes of darkness surrounding her head. Loki was loath to admit it, but she did look an awful lot like a queen.

“You know, sister, you could have simply waited in the darkness for me to answer that question. Might have gotten a more honest answer that way.” he told her, flippant smile on his lips.

“I suppose I could have done that. But then again I am not some forgotten third son. I am a Queen. Rightful heir to Asgard's throne. Goddess of Death. And I do not need to _hide_ to get what I want.” she smiled a smile that was all haughty arrogans, and Loki couldn’t help himself.

“You mean you were those things. Now you are nothing. Now you’re dead.” she snarled at his words. Taking a step forward, then seemed to change her mind, and instead fell into the chair at the head of the table, smiling once again.

“So are you, little brother. Dead and gone. And so I ask again. Why are you here? Why leave fair Valhalla after you managed to claw your way in there despite your weakness?” her smile grew wider as she spoke. Loki took a deep breath. They could spend all eternity arguing, but first, he had a grand heroic quest to complete, and so he turned to face Odin instead.

“Mother misses you. She won’t say it, but I can see it. The sad lines around her eyes, the way she stares emptily at the horizon when she thinks no-one is watching.” As Loki spoke, the All-Father just looked at him with sad, defeated eyes, a mirror of his wife's. It was Hela who spoke first.

“Well, that’s terribly sad and all, but as daddy made the foolish decision to stop his conquest and become a kind, caring, boring ruler, he had the misfortune of dying of old age. Shameful, really. Not much to be done about it now. This is his punishment for his foolishness. His weakness.” she smiled as if she was a child during the Jule celebrations, and Odin's fate was the present she’d been wishing for all year.

“Yes, about that.” Loki began, all nonchalance. Keeping his eyes fixed on his sister, away from the confused old king behind him. “He didn’t really die of old age, did he?”

“Oooh! This is good! Are you going to claim _you_ killed him? Because sorry lil’ bro, but the Fates disagree.” still smiling. But there was insecurity behind it, she wasn’t sure where he was going and it scared her. Good.

“No. I may have accidentally shortened Odin's lifespan, but _you_ , sister, were the the one to take his life in the end.” she stared at him, began to say something, but the God of Lies (Stories?) quickly cut her of. He had to finish this, while he was sure the Norns would listen. He was telling them a story, and he needed them to hear how it ended.

“Odin All-Father was greatly weakened,” the fallen prince began, voice ringing through the branches of Yggdrasil. “His youngest son, Loki Liesmith, had exiled him from his throne and his magic. Banished to the plains of Midgard, the Old King had but one true purpose left in his life - to stop his eldest daughter, Hela Odinsdottir, Killer of Worlds, the Butcher, from escaping the prison he had made her for but a little while longer, to protect all the Realms. He held her at bay with his magic for many years, until finally, just as his sons arrived to aid him, the last of his powers failed and he died, losing the battle against his monstrous daughter. But losing a battle is no cause for being denied Valhalla. It is the battle fought that matters, the honor of the sacrifice. And so Odin All-Father ascended to Valhalla, to join his beautiful wife and his brave warriors.”

“No!” Hela screamed as the second prince finished his telling. She rose from her chair and began to stalk down the other side of the table towards them, swords in her hands. Behind him, he could sense, more then see, the golden stardust taking Odin once again.

“Worry not fair sister, for you shall still have a family member to torment.” he smiled as she paused in confusion. He spread his arms in a gesture of surrender. “Valhalla was unbearably Asgardian enough to begin with, and now that Odin is going to be there too, I don’t see that improving. Do you? No. I think I’d much rather just stay here with you and the zombies.”

“No, Loki.” in an instant the fallen prince turned around and stared at the man he had once called Father. It was not just the words that mirrored, Odin's expression of confusion, sadness and apprehension was the same to.

So many things passed through the God of Lies mind at that moment. So many lies, witty comebacks, accusations. In the end Loki said nothing. He just watched with a sad smile on his lips as his father's wasted old body faded into stardust and disappeared.

“So that was the worst.” Hela said, staring at the spot that had a second ago held Odin. “And now you are going to remain here. In Hel. With me. You must really wove daddy-dearest, huh?”

“Not really, no.” he told her honestly. Or as honestly as he could manage. “I don’t care much for either of my fathers at this point.”

“Either of…” Hela trailed of as she realized what he had said. She leaned forward across the table and her eyes narrowed as she studied him. He had to try _very_ hard not to flinch. “Oh, I see. Should have realized. You’re no blood of mine. _Frost Giant._ ”

Loki was once again surprised at how little he cared when she threw the word at him like a slur. He had thought he was ok with Garm knowing because of the understanding between them, but perhaps it was more than that. Perhaps he truly didn’t care anymore. _Loki son of Two Fathers_. Two dead fathers, neither of whom mattered anymore. He was just Loki now. And that would have to do. Loki Liesmith perhaps, son of No-one. Son of Frigga.

Across the table, Hela was still fuming. “Why did you save him then? If he is not even your father? Why did you have to take him away from me?!” 

“Because Mother wanted it.” he told her simply. “Because I love and hate Odin in equal measure and it is easier to do that from a distance, knowing that he is safe and happy.”

“Love and hate in equal measure?” the Goddess of Death tilted her head sideways ever so slightly. “How did that come about little princeling?”

“That,” he answered with a laugh. With deliberate disinterest he picked up a grape from a tray on the table and threw it it his mouth. If he was going to stay here, he might as well make it official. “Is a very, very long story.”

“I have eternity, little brother, and so do you.” she sank into the chair opposite his. She was smiling again, eyeing the food knowingly. Thinking she had him now, that he was hers. He smiled back. There were two conquerors in this realm now, and only one throne.

“Very well then, big sister.” he told her, settling more comfortably in his chair. “Let me tell you a tale."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish to apologise preemptively to anyone expecting this to end in our baby Loki being resurrected. I’m sorry, but that was never the goal of this fic. This is about acceptance. About my acceptance of Loki highly probable future death and of Loki’s acceptance of… well, himself, I suppose. About hin learning to live (die?) with who and what he is, as well as with his family. Accepting Frigga and Odin as part of that family.
> 
> On the subject of Odin, I feel it important to point out that it is of course in no way weak or dishonorable, or any other stupid word I used, to die peacefully surrounded by family or taking your own life because life just sucks to much. I’d say both those deaths are in many ways far tougher than accidentally getting stabbed by somebody on a medieval battlefield. But Valhall is a Viking kinda place, and the Vikings were pretty intense in their beliefs. Like, they sacrificed people to their gods kinda intense. So, ya know, not great role-models.
> 
> One last note. I do sort of have a plan for a sequel to this. Hela and Loki hangin out in Hel, trying, in increasingly childish ways, to undermine and/or murder each other. Probably from Hela’s perspective. I’ll write it down if anybody reads this and likes it, so I don’t know, maybe look forward to that?


	2. Nagelfar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hela is dead. And it is _incredibly_ boring. Unable to stand more then a minute in Valhalla, she goes and conquers Hel instead, only to realize there is a reason no-one has ever bothered to do that before - the place is a literal and figurative graveyard.
> 
> To combat her boredom, and also get a bit of revenge on the side, the new Queen of Hel sets out to enslave Valhalla. It is all painfully easy at first, until her possibly insane, definitely lonely, selfproclaimed little brother shows up to ruin it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… This isn’t exactly what I promised at the end of the last story. I was going to write that - I swear! - but I got about 3000 words in and then realized I would much rather like to write this. Don’t worry, there's still A LOT of Hela and Loki bickering over dumb things, but then some of it is a lot more… emotional… than I had planned. Hope it is still readable.
> 
> Also. I have once again taken complete liberty stealing concepts from the mythology and the comics, spelling things as I damn well please and just generally doing whatever would look coolest. If you should like to debate any of said choices in the comments - please feel free, nerd discussions are my favorite kind of conversations.
> 
> Also. Also. This is still dedicated to @MagicalGirlHell, if anyone was not clear on that.
> 
> Let the telling commence!

Becoming Queen of Hel had been a terribly dull affair. Not quite as dull as the place itself, but it was a near enough thing. Before Hela’s arrival the place had had no ruler, and the Goddess of Death was beginning to understand why. 

Hel was, in a word, depressing. The sky, the ground, the rocks, the dirt, the, for lack of better word, inhabitants, all ran in almost indistinguishable variants of the color grey. The temperature was always the same almost-cold and the lighting never changed. There were no nights or days in the purgatory of the gods.

The Keep, as Hela had elected to refer to the throne hall of the place, was better, though it was not without its own set of problems. The outer cave was impressive enough, the grand, dark throne perfectly to Hela’s tastes, and the smaller caves beyond held luxuries to befit a Queen. There were bedrooms, and closets the size of rooms. There were armouries with enough weapons to outfit an army, a library and a large hall filled with maps, perfect for strategizing. There where deep tunnels leading to pools of water heated from somewhere deeper still within the mountain. In fact, it was all suited Hela perfectly. It was all _perfect_. And something about that was vaguely disturbing. 

When the new Queen arrived, the great table in the outer cave had been covered in the most exotic and alluring foods, the closest had been filled with clothes in beautiful dark green and black silks, the biggest bedroom had a chamber attached fitted to house one gigantic wolf, and by the hot springs there had been fresh towels laid out in perfect preparation. It was as if the mountain, no the realm, had been waiting for her. As if the Norns had made it ready for her to rule the moment she died. It was… unsettling.

Hela had quickly attempted to strike all such thoughts from her mind. It was only right, after all, that this realm, much like all the others, should welcome it’s rightful queen. She was the Goddess of Death, of course this, the Land of the Dead, would recognise her as it’s proper ruler. _Only this, the land of the dishonorable dead, welcomed you though. Not Valhalla, only this graveyard, this tomb, would bend to you._ A small voice had told her then, during those very first hours, but she had had an answer ready for it. _A realm given freely is no price at all, to have Valhalla, a Queen must be worthy._ And who was more worthy than Hela Odinsdottir? To have Valhalla, she must prove herself worthy. To prove worthy, she must simply take it.

The boredom of Hel would soon be over. Using the throne in the Keep, it was a simple enough task to bring the dishonorably dead Aesir under her heel, forming them into an army. They were no Einherjar, but they were numerous, and if Hela’s plans went smoothly, she would soon have far more formidable forces to join to their ranks. That _if_ was, however, growing larger by the hour. 

Loki of Jotunheim was proving to be… difficult. The being that insisted on calling himself her brother had arrived only a short time ago - perhaps only a few days, it was impossible to tell the time in the constant almost darkness - and already had he managed to completely mangle the Queens carefully set routines. Wherever she went, the Trickster god already seemed to be there. 

In the morning, when she came down to the baths to rinse herself for a new day he was sitting, perfectly relaxed, green eyes twinkling, in the deepest pool, greeting her with a happy “Good morning to you, Sister”. When she went to eat, he was perched on top of the large dining table, black leather boots on a chair, throwing grapes in his mouth and wondering aloud where “all this fresh food could possibly be coming from, wouldn’t you also like to know fair sister?”. When she retreated to her strategy room he was waiting for her, long dark hair tucked behind an ear, writing in a book that was almost certainly inappropriately titled _The Heroic Return of Loki of Asgard_. 

The first time she killed him was when she found him standing on the dias next to her throne.

The Goddess of Death had tried very, _very_ hard to pretend he did not bother her. To do so, she had felt, would have been to yield victory to this sniveling little brat of a Frost Giant, something she was certainly not about to do. But seeing him there, dressed in her colors, by her seat of power, her rightful place, so long denied, made something in her snap.

“These runes are fascinating, sister. You don’t happen to know what they mean, do you? I have been trying to study them, but I can’t seem to make sense of any of them,” Loki was saying, gesturing toward the strange symbols covering the back of the great stone seat, when her sword sunk into his chest.

“Well,” he said, unfaced, looking down at where the hilt of a black sword was sticking out of him just above his heart. “That wasn’t very polite, now was it? And here I’ve been trying so hard to be civil.”

“Civil? Is that what it is for a monster to approach the throne of a Queen without permission? If you wanted to be _civil_ you should be kneeling at my feet, jotun runt.” the words should, by all accounts, have hurt him. The story he had told her of his life and death on his arrival had made that much clear, yet the little abomination simply raised his eyebrows at her - as if to ask _Is that the best you can do, sister?_ Although, perhaps she had been foolish to listen to a word he had said, God of Lies, after all. 

Frustrated, the Goddess of Death pulled the sword out of her enemy’s body. He jerked lightly forward, blood falling out of him though the hole she had left, and reached out for the throne to steady himself. With a snarl, Hela cut of the trespassing hand and watched him fall to the ground, dead as he hit the stones. Of course, Loki had been dead long before she ever stabbed him, and he rose from the ground only a short while later, whole once again, but by that time, the Queen had long since left the room.

After that first failure there seemed to be little point in pretending the little prince’s presens was not annoying her, and so Hela presided to kill him whenever and wherever she got the chance. She drowned her self proclaimed brother in the baths, let Fenris eat him at the dining table and bludgeoned him to death with a book in the library. It felt satisfying only for a minute, and then rather pointless. She couldn’t really kill him, couldn’t even actually cause him pain. He seemed completely unaffected, never failing to greet her with some happy remark, and after every time she felt the strangest urge to leave the corpse as far behind as possible - never quite running away from her deed, but always leaving quickly.

The real problem was, however, the Queens seeming complete inability to keep her plans from her unwanted houseguest. As he followed her most everywhere, it had scarcely taken him more than a day to find her army, and as she could not keep him from going wherever he wished in her Keep he soon also found the notes and plans she had so meticulously collected and created since her arrival, essentially making him privy to her every planed move. It scratched at her. And even more so as he did not only _not_ make any move to inform Valhalla of her plans, he also made little impressed remarks as to her choices on those occasions when she let him get more than a single word in before killing him. _Placing the cavalry there is pure genius. I would never have thought to use the Berserkers weakness in such a way. How did you even know about those tunnels under Valhall, you were only there a single day?_ It was infuriating.

There was not much to be done about it however, Hela had decided, but to continue her machinations. If the God of Mischief continued to do nothing about them, all the better for her, and if not, all she had to do was make sure to be as close to finished as possible before he contacted Valhalla. Adopting this policy she had all but finished her preparations. Only one truly important thing remained. 

\---

The Queen of Hel had - not been putting it of exactly, but perhaps waited slightly longer than was quite necessary to perform this final part of her preparations. Now, finally, she stood before the entrance to the large pit she had been not-avoiding since she first arrived in the Underworld, stroking her pet wolf’s dark fur and wondering to herself why in all the Nine she was taking so long to step inside.

The pit, or perhaps more accurately, the hole, she mused, made for an abrupt change in the monotonous landscape of Hel. Grey desert stretched out as far as the eye could see on either side of it, disappearing, like all other things, into the mists. With no warning or, for that matter, reason, the hole just suddenly opened into the endless sands. Jarring, rugged spikes of black stone surrounding the edges and making up the walls. A maybe staircase, maybe natural pathway in the same stone circling them, leading ever down into the darkness. The Goddess of Death took a deep breath and motioned for Fenris to wait for her at the surface before stepping out onto it.

Darkness did not bother Hela. She could vaguely remember a time in her childhood when it might have, but even then she had not shown it, and now, after millenia in the darkness of Odin's prison, she found it rather comforting. The light was still too bright on her eyes - darkness felt like home.

“Curse you, Odin One-eye, I will rip the other one from your skull and leave you in darkness until you to find it as comforting as I do.” she mumbled to herself as the dark swallowed her, and was instantly meet with the scattering noise of a hundred voices laughing.

“I should very much like to see that, Beautiful One.” the rasping, female voice answering her from the depths brought the Queen of Hel little comfort, despite the familiarity of it.

“And I should have known you would manage to make yourself leader of this pack, Captain.” she spoke instead of thinking, much easier that way. “Good. That should make this easy. I, Hela of Asgard, have come and claimed the Land of the Dead. I sit upon the throne of this Realm of the Forsaken and as such, I would have your allegiance. Kneel before me fallen Disir, and I shall lead you into battle more glorious than you ever had in life.”

The laughter returned. Cooler now, harsher, and yet closer. Hela could still not see them, but she could feel their breaths on her skin. She could defeat them, she knew. These demons who had once been Valkyrie, Vättir and Völva. Just as she had twice ended all the armies of Asgard, first the Valkyrar and then the Einherjar. There was nothing to fear here. Nothing save perhaps failure.

“We are done with war here. Titles and honors lost long before our deaths. What we once were, we are no more, oh Queen of Nothing. It is over and done with. It matters little.” the former Captain answered her when the laughter had died. As the goddess eyes adjusted she could finally see the dead Dis before her, still wearing the white uniform she must have carried in death. Face gaunt, darkness circling her eyes. Long red hair turned grey - from the darkness or from death Hela wondered?

“You may no longer hold the titles you once held - but titles are not what you are. _Titles_ matter little. You are still Disir, ladies of magic and battle. No matter how you wish to wither away here, forgotten in your shame, it is pointless. You are-”

“My shame is it? You dare to speak to me in such a manner, Goddess of Empty Existence? I who was the only one to stand by you as the Hanged God threw you away like a used tool? At the executioner's block I cursed them, reminding them that you would return, that all who had defied you would burn and crumble in your flame. And now you stand here, Queen of Nothing, and speak to me of shame, of failure? Where is your Throne? The one that you should really be sitting on? Where is your _crown_? The one I died for?” other voices around the pit were hissing in agreement with their leader, the noise echoing of the walls of stone.

“I-” Hela cut herself of. She had not known. She had known of the Dis’ death, but not of it’s manner. Now, an urge came over her to apologise to her dead Captain. A foolish, childish urge. _Sorry does nothing,_ her father had said, long ago, _just do better_. Hela hated her father, but the old Aesir _had_ sacrificed his eye to Mimir, and so sometimes it was worth listening to his words. Just do better. “And what of it now? Would my throne have saved you from Hel? Would my crown have erased your dishonor? The answer is no, fair Disir, they would not have.”

“Empty words. We are dead. We can not be saved. But we can be avenged, our deaths honored. This you did not do, Heiress to a burned rock.” the Disir were pulling away, thinking the parlay over. But the fallen Dis had said exactly what Hela needed her to. 

“Oh. You want to be avenged? Saved like a damsel by some hero? I was wrong then. You are no Dis, Captain. A Dis has battle in her blood. A Dis fights until her last breath and beyond. A Dis avenges _herself_.” Hela may prefer her ax, or even a large sword, to any pen, but she had stood beside her father for enough negotiations to know how they worked, and as the Disir turned, she knew she had them hooked.

Her former Captain was the last to turn. “You would suggest we do what? Bring war to Valhalla?”

“That Captain, is exactly what I suggest.” Hela went on for a long time, describing her armies, her plans and the Disir’s place among them, but there was hardly any need. From that first sentence, the Dis who had been her closest in command was smiling, an ancient, bloodthirsty smile that Hela hadn’t realized she missed, and one she knew was mirrored on her own face. By the time the Queen of Hel left their pit, each of the fallen Disir had sworn to answer her call and follow her in battle.

\---

“That went _much_ better than I expected.” Loki was sitting crosslegged atop one of the grey boulders dotting the landscape just beyond the entrance to the Disir’s pit as Hela climbed out of it, throwing little pieces of meat at Fenris. “Seems Thor still takes the throne as least diplomatic and most punchy sibling then.”

“What do you want, Trickster?” whatever the liar might say, the Goddess of Death had done quite enough diplomacy for one day. She wanted a straight answer, or, bar that, someone to punch in the face. A straight answer, alas, was not a thing to fall often from the lips of the God of Lies.

“Why, sweetest sister, to congratulate you on the latest addition to your army, of course! I hear some of those Disir were quite formidable in-” his words cut of as Hela’s sword separated his head from his shoulders, sending it spinning across the sands. It sat there, unable to keep speaking without its vocal cords, yet still giving her a look somewhere between amused and offended. The Queen of Hel turned her back and stalked of, Fenris in tow, back to her Keep. Not quite able to keep a very similar amused smile of her own lips.

\---

The fact that the changeling did not return to the Keep later that night did not overly bother the Goddess of Death. It was even nice to, at last, have her new castle all to herself again. She took a long bath in the hot pools humming a song to herself that echoed through the deep passageways. Almost all her preparations were complete after all, she could afford to indulge herself for a moment. 

As she walked back up toward the grand dining hall, she took a quick detour through the library to check up on some document she feared she might have misplaced. Striding between the dark stone shelves cluttered with old scrolls and parchments, she remembered her adopted brother’s remark at seeing them for the first time. _Of course_ Hel _has a library! That just proves your point doesn’t it, sister? Valhalla is a dreadful place! Why would anyone want to spend eternity there?_

Yes, why would they indeed? Hela figured, once she had taken that ugly old hall, burned those hateful fields and forests to the ground and enslaved every damned Aesir residing there, she could just as well return here, to her new Keep, and rule from its throne. 

No point in staying on a palace that looked so much like Asgard once had. No point in staying somewhere that looked like the _before_ pictures in one of those silly Midgardian advertisements. Valhall looked like Asgard before the gold, before the conquests, before the blood. Before Hela was Goddess of Death. Before she had accomplished anything. When she still ran laughing through the halls with her mother.

\---

The Queen of Hel woke to the sound of blowing horns resounding of the walls of her Keep. As she ascended the caves and stepped out into great alcove that encompassed her thorne, the echoes merged into the sound of a single horn. She had only heard its call twice before, yet she knew it instantly. Any warrior of Asgard would. _Gjallarhorn_.

Valhall knew she was coming.

Turning back into her tunnels once more, cloak swirling around her as she went, the Goddess of Death found the only Frost Giant ever granted access to the afterlife of the Gods sitting comfortably at the edge of her strategy table. No book in his hands today, he had clearly been waiting for her, and it only made her anger grow.

“Why now, little Jotun? Why at this, the final hour? Oh wait, don’t tell me. It’s ‘Because it was the most fun this way, sister-dearest!’, isn’t it?” her swords came to her hands as she spoke, uncalled for, reacting to her first true feeling of anger towards her self proclaimed younger sibling.

“Honestly, if you’ll believe it, I just didn’t think you would be able to recruit Hel’s Disir to your side.” the prince of lies told her with a shrug. “I’m really not trying to make you angrier, still honest, but whatever force you could muster out of Hel would have stood no chance against Valhalla without them. For the record, killing the _entirety_ of the Einherjar in honorable combat right before trying to invade Valhalla was maybe not your most brilliant move. Then again you didn’t know you were going to die, so-”

The first of Hela’s swords hit him square in the chest and he crumbled to the floor next to the strategy table. She was over him instantly, sinking another into his shoulder. All the while, the little Jotun monster was still smiling back up at her. Smiling _her_ smile. Using _her_ mouth. And watching with _her_ eyes. Odin’s little replacement. Coming here to torture her. 

She stabbed a knife into his eye. _Her_ eye.

Another knife into the other eye. Ax to the face. Blow after blow until the smile was gone. She felt two emotions battle inside her as she watched the pool of blood and gore that had been a smile. Betrayal. And annoyance at the feeling of betrayal. 

She had know this little creature would betray her. It had been part of her plans. Why did she feel like this, when she had known? Had she been hoping for something else? More?

She had known Odin would have other children. That he needed another heir. Why did she feel like this, when she had known? Was it that he had taken a changeling? A thing pretending to be her at every turn? And then hadn’t thrown _it_ away?

Under her ax, the being that was not her selfproclaimed brother, but rather Odin’s chosen child, began to reform. She left him before his mouth was whole enough so speak words. The Queen of Hel had more important matters to attend to.

\---

The Gate to Valhalla was guarded, as ever, by the monster that called itself Garm. It looked for all the world like an oversized wolf, but the First Executioner of Asgard knew wolves, and this was no such creature. It unsettled Hela, not knowing what it was she faced, but her plans had been moved up by the actions of a Trickster god, and there was no time for research. The Queen had not brought her army, not wanting to show any insecurity, but Fenris presens by her side was to calming to forgo, negotiation tactics be damned.

“ _You come to visit me once again, Odinsdottir? I am honored._ ” Hela could _feel_ the monsters sarcasm through the bond offered. She denied the invitation with a shudder. Who would be fool enough to share their mind with an enemy?

“I come to you as Queen of this Realm. As such, I would have you kneel before me, Most ancient of Guardians, and allow me passage through the Gates.” Hela announced aloud, not taking part in any mindgames. Demanding passage was probably not going to work, but that was no reason not to first attempt the easy option.

“ _You and your pet may pass, Goddess of the Dead, as may your brother. None of you belong in this land, and so I have no obligation to stop you._ ” the not-wolf seemed to sigh, as if this was the most obvious information, known to every child, that she was forced to relay. “ _Your armies, however, Queen-at-the-End, may not._ ”

“Then, Keeper of the Dead, I shall simply have to take what I want.” Hela gave the monster an equally bored sigh of her own. “I’d really rather not End a being of such ancient standing, but-”

“ _Liar,_ ” the God of Lies’ mind was all smiles through the bond as he stepped seemingly out of nothing to joined the non-verbal conversation. “ _My sister would like nothing more than to slaughter you, and have her wolf rip you into tiny, tiny pieces, Garm of all things Secret._ ”

“ _It is a good thing then, that she can’t, Loki of No Fathers, as I am sure you understand what would happen if she did._ ” the way Garm immediately turned her attention to the other god was both annoying and unsettling. How well did these two nebulous beings know each other?

“ _I am sorry to say I still do not, Oldest of Wolves, despite my pledge to find the answer to your riddle before our next meeting. The Queen-at-the-End - that is one great title by the way - has unfortunately forced my hand in the matter._ ” Loki answered the monster, and though the mind-bond, Hela could hear his complete sincerity.

“ _No matter, little prince, I rather enjoy our little exchanges either way._ ” Garm laughed in their minds, but beneath the laughter, Hela could feel something sad, lonely, _wistful_. 

Binding your mind to another’s was weakness, and now Hela had pain to bather with. The not-wolf was going to kneel before her, just the same as every other being in this Realm and the Next. Before the Goddess of Death could say anything, though, the monster continued.

“ _I assume you have come here because you have found as loophole, little prince? A plot-hole worthy of a God of Stories?_ ”

“ _Not a hole so much as a point, Secret-Teller. A plot-point long forgotten and in dire need of some dusting of._ ” Loki was smiling his toothiest smile at the wolf. Hela’s toothist smile. 

“I’m sorry. I know everyone thinks millenia in solitary confinement drove me over the edge, but I don’t actually speak crazy. What in the Nine are you two mind-talking about?” Hela’s exasperation seemed to amuse both the jibberish-babeling beings before her. She had to try _very_ hard not to take offence.

“ _We speak, Butcher of Worlds, of how you will not have to murder to get what you want. Your Brother can get it for you, if only you are willing to ask it of him._ ” the monster pretending to be a wolf laughed in her mind. “ _Are you, First among the Odinsbarn?_ ”

 _First among the Odinsbarn_. Of course she was. Yet, Hela realized, this was the first time anyone had even bothered to acknowledge it. She was Odin’s firstborn, her brothers had a duty to defer to her. To kneel before her. If a minute ago she had been most hesitant to ask her changeling of a little brother for anything, now any such qualms were long passed. She was being manipulated, certainly, but the Goddess of Death did not take the time to think about that. This was what she wanted, and anything the Heir to Asgard wanted, she would have.

“What is it you claim to be able to do, little brother?” Hela spoke, and watched the grin on the Trickster’s face grow impossibly wider.

“ _Why, walk between worlds, of course, elder sister. I couldn’t wander into Hel unprepared, but now that I know where both it and Valhalla lie on the branches, stepping between them is childsplay. No need to pass Garm, no need for any undeserving to walk through the Gate to Valhalla, no need to break any ancient laws!_ ” all he spoke was truth, she could feel it through the bond of his mind to hers. And yet.

“As happy as I am that you have finally realized your place beneath me, lil’ bro, I have to wonder, as always it seems with you, _why_?” 

“ _Why indeed, sister-sweet. Why does the treacherous brother do anything at all? Perhaps I want to watch Valhalla burn as much as you? Perhaps I want to stand next to you in the attack so as to easier stab you in the back if it looks as though you’re winning? Perhaps I am simply bored, Gods of Chaos famously don’t do well idling about?_ ” none of the answers given by the God of Lies were wholly true. Some more false then others, but none The Truth. Hela could feel that answer lurking under the surface, perhaps hidden even from the Trickster himself. Turning it over in her mind she felt something inside her twist oddly. It was not something she had wanted. She thought. But it would have to do.

“I suppose that’s all the truth you are able to see.” she told the changeling, watching something indistinctive flither across his face for a moment. Garm growled quietly, protectively. One day, Hela would use that bond. Not today. “But it will have to do. Come, little brother, we have a Realm to invade.”

With Fenris at her side, the Goddess of Death left the Keeper of the Dead, feeling the bond in her mind snap as her little monster said goodbye to the bigger one. It left her mind strangely empty.

\---

Hela’s army gathered beneath the mountains. The cave her newly allied Worldwalker had indicated lay only a few miles from the place were Garm guarded the true Gate. It was not a big cave, neither broad nor deep enough to fit even a fraction of the force standing in formation outside it. 

The haunted warriors of Hel formed lines of four, cavalry coming first, tall soldiers in horn adorned helmets astride skeletal horses. After them came the footsoldiers, making up the majority of the force, those who strode first were brave berserkers, renowned in life, but as one followed the lines further back, more and more of the soldiers wore the rugged, hopeless look that they shared with most of the inhabitants of Hel. These were the truly dishonorable dead, the traitors and cowards, and they made up most of Hela’s force. Loki was right. Despite the number of beings residing in Hel outnumbering those in Valhalla three to one, there would have been no victory without the Disir. The Ladies of Battle rode last, hidden from view until the last moment by the masses ahead. With them, Valhalla stood no chance.

“Now what?” Hela asked the prince standing next to her at the mouth of the cave. Not impatiently. Though they were in fact in a bit of a hurry.

“Now, sister mine, I do magic.” he told her, lips quirking slightly upwards. The God of Mischief strode into the cave, lifting his hands as he went. Around the tips of his fingers, reality slithered and rippled in much the same way the water of a lake might ripple at the touch. As he reached the inner wall of the cavern, Loki seemed to find what he was looking for as he grabbed a wrinkle in the very fabric of reality and _pulled_. Like a simple piece of silk, the wall of grey stone fell away, revealing darkness.

The fallen prince of Asgard returned to his sisters side, sat up on his horse, and together, without a moment of hesitation, the two of them rode into the tear in reality.

\---

“Why do you look like me?” the Queen of Hel asked into the darkness as they rode, sure that none other than the intended recipient and her Fenris could hear the question. 

The recipient was quiet for a long moment before he spoke. “I don’t know.”

“Liar.” there was no way that the ever inquisitive little Jotun hadn’t already asked himself the question and at least searched for the answer.

“I don’t.” Loki persisted. Another long quiet moment passed. “I’m a shapeshifter by nature. Perhaps when the All-father found me, dying in the cold, I instinctively shifted into whatever he wanted most. Or perhaps he made me this shape with his own magic, because it was what he wanted.”

“It’s all ‘perhaps’ with you isn’t it?”

“Chaos God.” she could hear fabric ruffle and assumed he had shrugged. “Either way, it’s really Odin’s fault, not mine. He took me. Made me the tool _he_ wanted. I was never me.”

 _At least you were wanted._ The Queen of Hel did not say. She was not some pathetic little brat broken by her own parents. When _she_ went to destroy a Realm, it had not been some temper tantrum over finding out she was adopted, it had been what she wanted. Because she was the Goddess of Death, and conquering planets was what she was born to do.

They rode on in silence.

\---

The darkness ended as abruptly as it had started. Suddenly they were in another cave, surrounded by the deafening roar of water falling. This cave was much damper then the last, and it’s mouth was covered in a heavy stream of water. A cavern behind a waterfall. Of course.

“You couldn’t resist, could you?” Hela asked the changeling on the horse next to hers with raised eyebrows. 

“Chaos God.” he reiterated.

As they rode through the waterfall, it fell away around them, letting them enter the stone platou outside as dry as they had been inside the cave. Hela did not comment on this little discrepancy. Many other, more relevant things, had come up for her to comment on instead.

Below them stretched one of the great open fields of Valhalla. Sunkissed, yellow grass surrounded by emerald green forests lay before them, and beyond that, far away towards the horizon, stood the great grey walls of Valhall itself. Only an army of honorably dead Aesir stood between Hela and her prize. Valhalla’s forces were stationed on the far side of the field, their backs to the forest, facing the mountains. Hela did not ask how they knew to be there, the answer was right beside her after all. 

The Aesir of Valhalla, ever honorable warriors, waited patiently for Hel’s army to exit the tunnel beyond the waterfall and come marching into battle formation beneath their Queen on the field. When the last of the foot soldiers were out of the cave, Hela raised her sword in silent command, and her warriors marched forward, into their equally charging enemies.

When they died, the forces of Hel dissolved into dark mists that were blown away by some unfelt wind over the mountains and back to the land from which they had come. When the warriors of Valhalla fell in turn, they remained fallen, the regeneration of their flesh not fast enough to allow them to fight again in this battle.

The sound of the two armies clashing was deafening. And Hela had never loved anything higher. 

All her worries, all her _feelings_ and complicated thoughts melted away. Everything was the battle, and the battle was everything.

The Queen of Hel wanted nothing more fiercely then to throw herself into the fighting along with her soldiers. To feel skulls breaking under her axe and blood splatter up along her arms. But she could not. She had to contend herself with her role as commander, at least for now. It was a thing she had learned the hard way, that all armies need a leader, someone to sit up high, far away from the action, and watch so that everything went according to plan.

When the goddess was young, it had always been her fathers place. Odin All-Father would sit on his Sleipner and watch over the battle while his brave daughter lead the charge down in the trenches. Then, it had seemed so easy. Just kill and kill and kill until there were no enemies left, and then victory. 

Many years later, the goddess had lead her own war. Without her father's aid, she had invaded worlds, to remind him what they were. To show him that she could still be useful. That peace was pointless. That the Goddess of Death still had a purpose. Without a commander, her armies had fallen easily. Without a commander, Odin had taken her and thrown her away.

But then was not now. The Goddess of Death did not make the same mistake twice. And her choice to stay behind soon paid of as the battlefield shifted.

“Sister,” Loki’s tone was more amused than anything as he watched the sky from his horse beside her. “I thought you might like to know that the Valkyries have decided to join the fighting at last.”

“Fantastic.” the Queen of Hel exclaimed, without a trace of sarcasm. “Let out my Disir.”

From behind her, a new roar joined those of the waterfall and the battle below. It sounded like the shrieks of a thousand birds of prey, all honed in on some unsuspecting animal below.

The water burst open to let out one hundred and thirty six Disir, each riding one of the grey, scale covered dragons of the Underworld. At the head of the battalion rode the former First Captain of the Valkyrie, red hair blasing in the wind, to meet her blond replacement, sitting atop a white pegasus another 30 meters up in the air. The Valkyrie had paused a moment in shock at the sight of the other Disir, but they soon reclaimed their momentum, and the world shook once again as the two skybound forces clashed.

A glance to the side showed Hela the God of Lies watching the sky with amazement.

“Impressed yet, little brother?” slipped out before she could stop herself, the euphoria of battle filling her lungs with mirth.

“I most certainly am, sister!” he answered, with what she thought must be sincerity. “I was going to make some comment about how killing all the Valkyrie was maybe counterproductive to you goal of Total Afterlife Domination, but it seems rather pointless now, does it not?”

The Goddess of Death was about to give her not-brother some witty comeback about how she had thousands of years of battle experience on him, when the battle changed once again. The All-Father had joined the fray.

Calling her beautiful wolf back to her side, Hela made a motion for the Trickster god claiming to have allied himself with her to also follow. She did not think he would betray her now, not after what she had heard through the mind-link, but it was always better to keep your enemies close after all.

“With me!” she called, and her army seamlessly formed a spear around her, breaking through the ranks of the enemy toward the one-eyed figure on the eight legged horse at the break of the forest.

Finally she was in the thick of the fighting, the sound of steal meeting steal all around her. The feeling was incomparable, like lightning in her veins, and fire in her chest. The Queen’s movements were perfection. Each thrust of her sword was exhilarating. Each fall of her axe a motion like the incoming tide. Each stroke of her blade a move in a dance only she was privy to the steps of. Or perhaps she and one other. 

To the goddesses left, a demon had fallen into the steps of her dance. Loki moved like he had always been meant to fight beside her, filling her blind spots and blocking her back. He did not fight the way she did, quick, darting movements to her powerful, deliberate blows. Yet he fit her perfectly, melting into the way she fought as if it was second nature to him. _I was what they wanted me to be._ She remembered him saying. But now the God of Mischief was his own, and he had chosen her. The thought somehow made the moment even better. 

They reached Odin together, Fenris following not far behind.

“Father!” Hela called as her black sword clashed with his golden spear. “I thought frail old men stayed home, away from the glory of the battlefield!”

“A father, no matter how old, must himself deal with the follies of his children.” the All-Father answered her. He cut an impressive figure, clad in his golden armor and with a battlehelmet of old framing his face. It was hard to believe the husk of a man he had been but days before.

Distracted by the thought, Hel almost missed the burst of golden magic reaching towards her from the King of the Gods free hand. Before she could block it, however, it had already been stopped by another magic, green in color.

“Now, now, All-Father, cheating against your own children? Is nothing beneath you?” her brother laughed, throwing one of his little knives at the older gods face. Odin blocked it with a flick of his spear, leaving himself open to Helas next attack.

“Loki,” the one-eyed god tried, just managing to avoid the tip of Hela’s sword as Sleipner moved him away from it. “Why are you doing this?”

“Everyone keeps asking that lately. Why, Loki? Why did you do this, why are you doing that? Can’t I just do things _because I want to_? Is that not reason enough?” the Trickster smiled, green eyes glittering with mischief Hela knew was mirrored in her own.

The Odinsbarn fought in tandem, pushing their father back. At some point, one of Hela’s spears pierced through Sleipnir's armor and the great battle horse fell, wounded enough to not raise again until the fighting was long over. As the All-father stood back up, spear still in his hands, to face his assailants, both of his children leaped down from their horses, unwilling to make the fight more unfair then necessary.

Yet even with them all on the ground, Odin was no match for two of the monsters he had raised fighting together. Soon, the old god began to tire, and just then, as he lifted his spear to block one of his jotun son’s many knives, Hela saw an opening, and took it.

The Goddess of Death would have killed her father again then - as much as one already dead can truly be killed, at least. But something stayed her hand. Not pity, or conscience, or even love. No such foolish notion as that. A sword stopped the Queen of Hel. A sword held by another Queen.

“I see you have come to joined the battle at last, Mother!” the fallen prince at Hela’s side exclaimed, eyes still dancing with mirth.

“Someone had to come stop you both from doing something you’d regret.” the other Queen answered solemnly, yet a smile was tugging at her lips.

“But things I’ll regret is all I ever do, oh fairest lady of Valhalla.” with a look to his commander, the God of Lies pulled his own sword seemingly out of nowhere and went to duel his mother, leaving Odin to his sister.

And so the Goddess of Death did battle with the God of War. Blackened sword against golden spear. Hela was lost in it. The joy of effortless battle giving way to the deep satisfaction and focus of a challenge. 

Suddenly, the All-Father pulled away, watching something in the distance. Around them, the sound of fighting had died of, only a few battles still raging. Her eyes honed in on three of these, watching as they ended.

In the sky, only two Disir were still flying. The blonde captain of the Valkyries, and her redheaded predecessor. As Hela watched, they made one final dive towards one another, spears sinking into each others chests. One falling to the ground, the other dissolving in grey mist.

To her right, her beautiful Fenris was battling the Aesir she had foolishly made her Executioner. The big Aesir was charging at her wolf with his sword raised, and as Fenris opened his great maws to swallow the warrior whole, the sword pierced deep into his throat. When the wolf dissolved and the mists faded away, the Aesir crumbled to the ground, blood flowing out of deep holes made by Fenris teeth.

To her left, the battle between Frigga All-Mother and Loki, her treacherous son, was over. And that was what Odin had stopped to watch. Mother and son each had their swords positioned to kill the other. Loki’s sword was at his mother’s throat, while Frigga had hers pointing upwards between the plates of armor on her son’s stomach. Neither made a move to actually end the other.

“We can always call it a draw?” Frigga smiled hopefully at her son.

“No. You win Mother. It seems I am no longer able to deny you anything.” the Trickster spoke, and with a shimmer of green he was gone from the battlefield. Both Odin and Frigga stared at the spot he had disappeared in confusion. Clearly neither of them understood much of their son, despite centuries of time to figure him out.

Oh, well. That was hardly Hela’s problem. With a battle cry - because old Aesir values of fair play were still deeply ingrained in her - she flung herself at her father, swatting aside his half-lifted spear like a fly, and drove one of her swords deep into his heart.

Odin All-Father looked at his daughter with something akin to regret as he died. And Hela hated him.

“It would appear we are the only ones still standing.” the Queen of Valhalla eyed her daughter thoughtfully.

“It would seem so, yes.” the Queen of Hel replied. “To the winner the spoils then. And don’t expect me to pull some disappearing act on you. If I can, I will kill you.” 

“I am sorry, you know. For what we had to do to you. If there had been any other way…” Frigga trailed of, searching for words.

Hela felt her blood boil over with rage. Wrath filling her lungs at every breath. Heart beating faster then it had in a thousand years. 

The Queen of Hel did _not_ need her mother’s sorry. She did not want it. Sorry did nothing. They should have done better. They should not have given up. 

The Goddess of Death had no mother. No father. No family. They were done and gone. And all she wanted to do now was to kill them over and over again.

The two Queens stood for a long moment on the quiet battlefield, watching each other. They had taken identical fighting stances, left foot forward, free hand raised for balance, sword pointed at their opponent. A single second stretched into eternity. When Hela charged, Frigga followed immediately. 

The battle was brief. One fighter filled with rage, the other with sorrow. When Frigga’s sword sunk into her daughter’s heart, tears were already filling her brilliant green eyes.

“You’ve gotten sloppy. Practise, and then come back and try again.” smile on the golden Queens lips and a plea in her voice as the dark mist took her daughter back to Hel.

\---

The Keep echoed quietly when Hela reformed on her throne. The Queen of Hel sat there for what felt like an eternity, taking deep breaths. Dying hadn’t hurt. It never did for the dead. But something else did. Something deep inside her, long thought buried. She pushed it back down fiercely.

Another god sat on the steps up to her throne, back turned towards her. For a single moment she was terrified. She didn’t want to see his face, didn’t need whatever expression he would throw at her in her moment of weakness. Couldn’t take another rejection. And then Loki turned, a smile curving his lips. Her smile.

“That went rather terribly horrible, didn’t it?” he didn’t seem very disappointed by that, but neither did her failure seem to be a thing worthy of celebration in his mind. 

“Yes, brother, it rather did.” she confirmed. What was the point in arguing, anyway?

“Well,” he said, still smiling that smile full of mischief, the same one he had smiled when they first reunited, down here in Hel. “I suppose we have all eternity to get it right? Don’t we?”

The way he asked the question. As if _he_ was the one begging _her_ for acceptance. 

All the heavy things fell away. The pain that had been ripped back out by Frigga plummeted back down deep into the depths of her soul. None of that old garbage mattered. The Queen of Hel had a Realm to conquer. 

She smiled back at her strange, yet eerily similar brother. “Indeed, little brother, we do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay!? There was a big battle at the end! I don’t know how to write those! Why did I do this?! Like I said, not really what I had planned, but whatever. And again - hope that was readable.
> 
> But. Yeah. Writing Hela was fun. Writing is fun. I left the chapter-count-thingy on this a question mark because I don’t know where I am going with this. Will probably (definitely) make a third chapter - because trilogies, am I right? But after that? Who knows? Maybe I’ll never stop!
> 
> Gonna go calm down after all the swords now. See you for the next one? Maybe?


	3. Gullinkambe, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skurge is dead. And he is still on the fence about it. Because Valhalla is beautiful and everything, but all the Aesir there hate his guts, and that’s a bit depressing. The former Executioners latest plan for redemption - following Loki to Hel - just failed spectacularly, and now he’s back to square one. Everything is looking rather glum, until Queen Frigga and a tiny bilgesnipe make appearances in his life (death?) and things start becoming truly strange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand once again I have not written the thing I planned to write. Sorry about that. I was just gonna make a quick “mid-credit-scene” explaining how Skurge ended up fighting and beating Fenris (because to anyone not in my head that must have seemed a bit random), and then it sort of exploded in my face… 
> 
> Basically, this is _not_ part 3 of the story. This chapter relates to the overall narrative the way Rogue One relates to the original trilogy. If you don’t want to read 12 thousand words about Skurge (cuz yupp, this is just part 1) you don’t have to, and you won’t really miss any of the story!
> 
> As always, I have taken all the liberties with designs and spellings, and would love to talk about that in the comments, and the story is still dedicated to @MagicalGirlHell.
> 
> Now let’s get this telling started!

The Gate to Hel had been sealed shut. Skurge knew this because he had tried every way he could think of to get past it. 

Walking straight into the the great ravine that made up the antechamber of the Gate - as he had initially tried upon reaching it for the second time - had not worked. Hacking at the strange invisible barrier that had appeared where he was quite certain there had been none last time with his sword had not worked. Hacking at it with his double axes from Vanaheim had not worked either. Tunneling under it using said axes as shovels had not worked. Climbing the rock to the side of the Gate to get above the barrier had not worked. Cursing the sky and the Trickster god who had no doubt created the barrier after falling down 8 meters of dark rock had _not_ worked.

There was nothing to do but turn around and walk right back to Valhalla, tail between his legs. Skurges day had been a bust. His life had been a bust. His death was an even greater bust.

Unable to fly straight over the forest, like the unhelpful God of Lies he had followed out to the Gate that morning, Skurge would have to travel the entire non-neglectable distance on foot. For _the third time_ in less than 24 hours. Curse all flying gods. If he ever saw Loki again he was going to - not hurt him, or kill him, since both those options were quite distinctly cut of by the fact that they were both already dead - but do something bad to him. Like making him walk for hours through a forest for no reason.

When Skurge had first walked out here, there had of course been a reason for the trip. He had been trying to redeem himself. Plan had been simple; go with the literal lesser of two evils to Hel to fight the greater evil, come back to Valhalla - preferably with some cool trophy - and get all the dead Aesir there to sing songs to his name. Or just stop hating him. Either of those two worked. But no. The God of Lies didn’t need Skurge _slowing him down_ , so now all he had left to do was hike back through the stupid forest, in full armor, with nothing to show for it.

“Curse Bor’s ugly old beard and all his idiotic megalomaniac grandchildren!” Skurge exclaimed loudly at no-one in particular, swatting away a low hanging branch in front of his face - only to have said branch swing right back around and hit him in the eye. “Typical!”

From somewhere further ahead in the forest, a low howl answered his swearing. Skurge froze for a moment, listening intently. When the sound did not immediately return, the Aesir warrior took a few testing steps forward. The forest remained silent. Then, as if on command, just as he was beginning to walk at a normal speed again, Skurge managed to step on a very large, dry branch, sending an echoing _crack_ through the trees. The howling noise returned. Louder.

This time, however, Skurge recognised the noise. It was the call of a bilgesnipe. Not a fully grown one though. The sound was too shrill, too high pitched. This had to be a calf. A very young one. That was dangerous.

Female bilgesnipe were notoriously protective of their young. Getting between a mother and her calf had lead to many an unheroic death in the village where Skurge grew up. Now, of course, the warrior was already long dead, but he still didn’t want to be delayed for any longer than necessary in this trice-cursed forest, and getting trampled by an angry, oversized lizard-moose was bound to do that.

Attempting to avoid confrontation, the huge Aesir started walking _very_ slowly to the north, sideways away from the crying animal. Step by slow step he managed to pass around the calf undetected.

Pleased with having managed to do _one_ thing right today, Skurge started walking at a stroll through the forest. Dusk was falling, but if he hurried, he might be able to make it back to the hall before he other Aesir finished _all_ the food at tonight's feast.

“Or, and hear me out here, we could just leave it here.” Skurge froze for the second time in less than a quarter of an hour as the sound of voices suddenly cut through the branches in front of him.

“Why would you wish to do such a thing, my dashing friend?” a new voice answered, obviously bewildered by the other’s remark. “This must be the largest Bilgesnipe I’ve seen in at least a century! Everyone will sheer at this great catch! And it will taste delicious at tonight’s feast!”

“That is exactly the problem, my voluminous comrade! The animal is so big it will take us until _well after_ the feast has already started to bring it back! Making the whole endeavor completely pointless!” the first voice returned, the smallest hint of irritation creeping into the last phrases.

The two Aesir, soon confirmed in speech to be Thor’s former Shield-brothers Volstagg and Fandral, continued debating the matter for so long that when a third voice, Hogun the Grim, finally interjected and managed to convince them both to take only the animals head back to Valhall, the forest had fallen into complete darkness. 

When the three at last, after spending a good ten minutes chopping the bilgesnipe’s head of, left the clearing, voices ringing with merriment as they walked away, Skurge drew a sigh of relief and stood up from the uncomfortable hunched position he had been stuck in. It wasn't that the warrior was _hiding_ from the other Aesir. It was that he was at this specific moment not interested in speaking with honored soldiers who he had watched die without lifting a finger. In fact, he was rather disinterested in the idea of ever speaking with them, at all.

Continuing forward in the darkness, the former Executioner came upon the headless body the Warriors Three had left behind. It was not a beautiful animal - no bilgesnipe was - yet there was still something strangely sad about seeing such a powerful creature being reduced to a pile of meat like this. Volstagg had been right, Skurge could not recall ever seeing a larger specimen. Its blood formed a small pond in the clearing, hoofs having left tracks the size of Valhall’s dessert plates on the ground. 

Regarding the corpse warrily, the sneaking suspicion Skurge had felt since the very beginning of the conversation he had eavesdropped on was confirmed. This was a female. Female bilgesnipe were extremely territorial and could have prides that stretched for miles. If this animal was female, the calf Skurge had heard must be its offspring. And that meant the calf was now motherless. 

He had been planning to walk back to Valhall and be back before all the food at the feast was eaten - but it seemed Skurge simply could not manage to follow through on a single plan today. Before he could even think it through, the bald warrior had turned around and was heading back towards where he had heard the calf cry.

Skurges commanding officer had always complained about his lieutenant's inability to leave a campaign without at least a dozen souvenirs, and Skurge could never understand why. If you could take stuff, why would you _not_ take stuff? It was not as if he was stealing anything, the things he brought back had all been abandoned, discarded by their last owner and forgotten. Like this little bilgesnipe calf. Besides, Skurge knew all too well what it was like to be motherless.

The bulky Aesir found his cuary only a few pases further into the forest. Just like last time, the small animal began to howl sadly when it heard him approaching. Skurge wondered if it had realized its parent was dead, or if it simply thought itself abandoned. Hard to say which was worse. 

Curling itself into a ball, perhaps trying - rather badly if that was the case - to hide, the calf shrunk back and away from Skurge when it realized he was in fact not its mother. The little Bilgesnipe had the same rust-red scales as the larger, dead one in the clearing. Its black antlers, however, were still no more than tiny growths on its head and its yellow reptilian eyes regarded Skurge warily.

Trying to think of ways to reassure the little animal of his good intentions, the bald Aesir took a careful step forward. He was in the middle of regretting he had not brought any food with him on his journey - what did bilgesnipe eat anyway? - and taking another step, when the calf got up, gave a new howl and _charged_ right at him. Skurge didn’t have time to do much except stare in bewilderment at the tiny beast running headfirst towards him before it hit his boot and abruptly bounced back away from him.

The calf didn’t get back up. Surprising himself with the amount of worry he felt for the little animal that had just attempted to attack him, Skurge leaned forward and felt for a pulse on its tiny neck. The animal’s heart was beating, and further checking confirmed that it was also breathing and had no broken bones or other injuries. The impact of the charge must have simply knocked the calf unconscious.

With a sigh of relief - also possibly too large for an animal he had just stumbled upon - Skurge lifted the knocked-out little calf into his arms and started back toward Valhall once again.

\---

The great grey stone castle of Valhalla had, according to the stories, been built with the intention of housing every Aesir that had ever died, and would ever die, an honorable death. That sounded great in myth, but caused some minor impracticalities in practise. To be able to house all those Aesir, the hall had to be huge - larger than the royal palace in Asgard had been. But because most of all the Aesir that would ever die hadn’t actually died yet, large parts of the hall stood empty and abandoned. There were corridors in the castle that were never traversed, gardens that were never visited, and feasting halls that had never heard the sound of laughter.

Of course, this did not bother most of the dead Aesir, as they were far too busy fighting mock battles against one another and holding celebrations in the halls that _were_ used. And for Valhallas second least wanted citizen (perhaps _the_ least wanted now that Loki had left) the ridiculous amount of extra space was a blessing.

After arriving in Valhalla, Skurge had taken up residence in one of the abandoned wings of the castle, far away from everything and _everyone_ else. It was actually pretty nice. He knew for a fact that his chambers were far larger than any of the other former soldiers’. He had a combined livingroom and entertainment space with a full-sized fireplace, a really nice bedroom, an ensuite bathroom with three separate bathing tubs, two balconies and a room that was probably meant to be an office but instead currently housed his Collection of Stuff. It was a rather depressing collection at the moment considering he had only managed to bring Dess and Troy with him from the World of the Living and that he had not stayed in Valhalla for long enough to collect much else - but that would soon be rectified.

Overall, aside from the long walking distances to everything that involved other Aesir, Skurge was rather pleased with his housing arrangements. And they came in extremely hand now that he had accidentally adopted a tiny bilgesnipe.

The little calf had still not stirred, but Skurge was’t worried. Bilgesnipe were famously hard headed, and it was quite probable that the animal would not only be absolutely fine the next morning, but would also attempt the exact same course of attack as soon as it woke up. Patting its small head gently between the antlers, Skurge placed the calf on an improvised bed he had made on the floor of his bedroom. Upon further consideration he also covered the animal in a light blanket and placed a bowl of porridge next to it - still unsure what bilgesnipe ate, but hoping that the food would distract the calf when it woke up and stop it from immediately running away.

Happy with his preparations, Skurge went to bed after a most fruitless day with a smile on his face.

\---

He woke up the next morning and could not for the life (death?) of him understand where the loud howling and scratching noises that filled the room could be coming from. Turning over to his back, Skurge scanned the room, eyes still half closed from sleep. There was a small, red _something_ running back and forth across the bedroom, clawing at any surface it could find with tiny, tiny hoofs.

 _Bilgesnipe_. Yesterdays events came crashing down on the Aesir like a landslide. He had picked up an orphaned bilgesnipe calf. Why had he picked up an orphaned bilgesnipe calf? The warrior groaned and rose from the bed.

Noticing the Aesir for the first time, the little calf stilled, crawled into a ball in a manner Skurge now recognised, took aim, and charged forward. This time however, the bald warrior was prepared and managed to step away from the tiny bilgesnipe’s trajectory, allowing it to glide harmlessly past him. The animal bumped painlessly to a stop when it hit the nightstand, and turned around with a look adorably close to indignation on its little face. Skurge could not help the snicker that escaped his lips, and the animal looked - if possible - even more indignant.

Sloshing over to where he had left the bilgesnipe yesterday evening, Skurge found the porridge bowl he had left it empty. _Seems that was appropriate food after all._ The warrior thought, proud of himself. The porridge having been eaten left a new problem, however, as it had been the only food in his apartments, in this entire wing of the castle in fact. 

Skurge sighed and began to dress for the new quest for food he would have to undertake. No armor needed today. Before he left, he picked up the tiny bilgesnipe and let it out into the large, abandoned garden outside his chambers, hoping it would be able to contend itself playing out there.

\---

For the record, Skurge had actually already tried the course of action that the second prince had suggested before unceremoniously telling him he was not needed and sending him back to Valhalla. _Hunt with them, sing with them, drink with them. Do all the things I refuse to do._ The only problem with that, was that Skurge was not a prince of Asgard. 

He supposed if _Loki_ ever changed his mind and decided he indeed wanted to take part in the Aesir’s games, all he had to do was order them to let him. Skurge could do no such thing. If people didn’t want to talk to _him_ , all they had to do was ignore him. On some level, he realized that being ignored was probably better then being constantly assassinated, but it was still seriously frustrating. 

Now, whenever the former executioner moved through the public spaces of Valhall, everyone he meet pointedly looked the other way, or, at best, gave him a sneer for a greeting. Skurges solution? He’d simply started avoiding any public areas, as far as that was possible. This morning, however, he needed to get to a kitchen to stock up on his food supplies. And since, for reasons of practicality, the kitchens were all closely attached to some banquet or feast hall of some sort, that meant venturing straight into the main congregations of Aesir.

Skurge’s hope, upon leaving his chambers, had been that the Aesir who would have gartered to party in the halls the past evening would still be passed out asleep among the tables. This turned out to not be the case. In fact, when Skurge approached the main public area of Valhall, he was met with the sounds of hundreds of cheering voices - as if yesterday's feasting had not yet finished.

Curiosity killed the cat, Skurge remembered as he found himself drawn toward the sound and the largest room in all Valhall - the throne hall. But the Aesir warrior was already dead, and so he continued forward, head held high as he marched in through the great, open oak gates, daring anyone to tell him he did not belong there.

No-one took note of Skurge’s entrance. Even the guards at the gates had their backs turned. Every eye in the hall was at the opposite wall. At the dias containing the until now empty throne. But the throne was no longer empty. A figure was sitting on it. For a moment, Skurge could not believe his eyes. Odin. The All-Father was sitting on the throne.

 _Loki_. Again. The bald Aesir’s first thought was that it had to be the trickster. But it couldn’t be. The cheering crowds could be fooled, but by the throne stood Frigga All-Mother, smiling at her husband and at their happy people. No way even the God of Lies could fool her. Which meant this was really King Odin. Only one question then. How?

As if to answer his question, the All-Father slammed his gilded spear - eerily like Gungnir - into the ground, instantly silencing the cheering Aesir, and began to speak.

“My people,” the King of the Aesir began. “ After a long and arduous journey I have arrived in Valhalla! There were many perils on my way, many things a King needed to face to garner entry into this, the land of the strongest and most honorable of warriors, but I persevered, and now I am here! Let us feast this day, bravest of soldiers, and celebrate your King’s ascension, and on the morrow, I will lead you all on a hunt unlike any you have ever undertaken! Bring mead, bring ale! Bring all the things needed for a celebration of this calibre!”

The All-Father went on for quite some time. Singing the praises of his warriors, of the bountiful Land of the honorable Dead, and of himself. It was all pointless platitudes though. None of it answered the real question. How had Odin gotten here? He spoke of a journey, effectively explaining away the long time disparity between his death and his arrival, but never went into detail. They had all thought the King must be in Hel. Not much was know of Odin’s death, since the only ones who had been there to witness it were his children, all of whom were varying degrees of insane and secretive, but there was only one other known place that a dead Aesir could go to if they did not come to Valhalla.

It had to be Loki after all. Not sitting on the golden throne, but the tricksters machinations had to be behind this. Loki goes to Hel, and the next Bor damned day Odin, who’s been missing since his death, shows up in Valhalla. No way that was a coincidence.

It still made no sense, though. Skurge didn’t know a whole lot about it - because royal family, footsoldier - but he was pretty sure the All-Father and his youngest son didn’t really see eye to eye. Like, attempted murder level didn’t see eye to eye. Enough was known to the general populous that when, a few months into Loki’s stint as fake-Odin, Skurge had finally realized that his new employer was not who he pretended to be, the warrior had just assumed that the trickster had killed his adopted father. 

(And yes, he hadn’t said anything about that, to Loki or anyone else, because what would have been the point? Odin was already presumably dead, Loki was doing a fine job pretending to be him and ruling Asgard, and the whole thing had landed Skurge a sweet new job. And yes again. He had learned his lesson about that. Never taking any more jobs from dark haired, green clad royalty. Thank you very much.)

Regardless of his reasoning for saving Odin from Hel, Loki had been right about one thing. Nobody was going to thank him for it. In all of his very, very long speech, Odin All-Father never once mentioned his wayward son. 

Sighing with annoyance, Skurge left the hall. It turned out yesterday’s adventure had been double pointless. Even if the bald warrior had somehow managed to get Loki to let him come along on what had apparently been his rescue mission, he wouldn’t have gotten any recognition for it anyways. Typical.

\---

The bilgesnipe calf ate more then Skurge did.

It was almost a bit scary, watching something so stupidly tiny wolf down such a ludicrous amount of food. What Skurge had thought would be enough porridge to keep the little animal going for a week only lasted a single evening. He stared at the animal in exasperation as the last bit of boiled grain disappeared into its maws. The animal just stared back with a face that clearly said; _You have a problem, peasant?_ And then promptly walked over to the pile of blankets that was its improvised bed and fell asleep. Skurge supposed he should be happy it wasn’t attacking him anymore.

Skurge wanted nothing higher than to also fall into his own bed, but alas, if he did the little menace of calf was bound to wake him up in the middle of the night to demand more food. Sighing, for what felt like the hundredth time in the last day and a half, the warrior rose from his chair, preparing to once again brave the populated parts of Valhalla.

This time, there was no hope of the former executioner getting to a kitchen unnoticed, so he simply headed straight back to the throne hall he had been in that morning. If he was going to have to deal with other Aesir either way, he might at well get some of the no doubt delicious food prepared for the celebration of the All-Father’s return while he was at it.

When the bald warrior got there, the hall was still packed. The Aesir were singing and dancing, eating and drinking, all as loudly as was possible, filling the hall with deafening noise. At the head of the chamber, the All-Father was still sitting on his throne, helmet a little askew as he raised his cup in a toast no-one could hear. Skurge could hardly blame the guy for celebrating, if _he_ had just gotten out of Hel, he wouldn’t be sober for days. Still. There was something missing.

“Where is Queen Frigga?” Skurge asked nobody in particular before he could stop himself. Shouldn’t the Queen be here celebrating as well, now that her husband had finally arrived?

“She left a couple of hours ago, looking like she’d swallowed something sour.” to the bald Aesir’s great surprise, a warrior on one of the benches closest to him answered the question. Clearly too drunk to be able to tell who he was talking to. “Apparently the Frost Giant’s gone missing.”

“What?” it took Skurge a moment to realize who the other Aesir was talking about, and then a longer moment to realize what that meant. Loki hadn’t returned with Odin. He was still in Hel. And Frigga didn’t know.

“Yeah. Figure he took of when he realized King Odin was back. Never was one for sticking around for a fight that one. The Queen’s probably gone to make some spell to find him or something. Now that the All-Father is back we might actually be able to punish the bastard properly! Am I right!” the drunk Aesir warrior continued rambling. Skurge wasn’t really listening.

If the Queen didn’t know where her kid was, it was probably the right thing to do to tell her, right? Skurge had never met the beautiful Vanir in person, but from what he’d heard, she was an exceptionally kind and caring person, the type to spend years of her death making the gardens of Valhall into the perfect little pieces of calm and beauty they now were. 

The drunkard seemed to think that she wanted to punish her son, but rumor had it the Queen had visited him almost every day when he was supposed to be in solitary confinement in the dungeons, so that seemed rather unlikely. More likely that Loki had taken of without informing her of where he was going, much like he had refused to let Skurge come with him, and she was now stuck here, worried sick about her stubborn child. Skurge felt a sudden kinship with the Queen of Asgard. They had both been left behind by Loki the Annoying. Now he really needed to talk to her.

That was, of course, easier said than done. After grabbing some food for himself and his adopted bilgesnipe, Skurge headed over toward the wing of the castle that held the royal quarters. Before he got even close to the actual royal chambers, though, he was faced with a pair of eight meter oak doors and six dead Einherjar. 

“Who goes there?” they greeted him, spears raised. Very hostile. And they hadn’t even realized who he was yet. This was going to be hard.

“I need to speak to the Queen.” he tried. It might work. Highly unlikely. But it might.

“Who goes there?” yeah, no. Maybe not.

“My name is Skurge. Distinguished after the battle on Vanaheim.” even less likely to work.

“The False Queen’s Executioner?” he was never going to get away from that one, was he? Probably should have used a fake name, but he’d never been very good at lying.

“Yeah. I’m- uh- sorry about that. Anyway, I really need to tell the Queen- I mean the other one- the- uh- real one- a thing.” this was just going great. They were definitely going to let him in after that brilliant speech. For a second, the bald warrior found himself wishing he could get Loki to help him with this. The God of Lies would know what to say. Surely.

“What is it you wish to speak to her Majesty about?” 

“That’s- that’s private.” he really didn’t want to bring up the one person in Valhalla these guards probably liked even less than him. _Hey, evil Queen’s Executioner here, bringing a message about the evil usurper Prince, wanna let me in to the most guarded part of Valhalla?_

“We can not let you through this gate if you won’t even tell us why we should.” they had their spears pointed _at_ him now.

Somebody once said it was a wise man who knew when to give up.

\---

Days passed, and Skurge got no closer to speaking to the Queen. He spent hours outside the royal wing, hoping to catch her as she left it, until some of the guards caught him at it and told him in no uncertain terms that if they saw him there again they would personally build Valhall a dungeon to throw him in. After that he tried going to the feast halls to meet her, but all he managed to do was watch her from a distance, her eyes sad, as she only stayed for precisely as long as was required of a Queen and then disappeared.

The former executioner’s relationship with his bilgesnipe ward wasn’t going much better. For all the little animal had stopped attacking him, that was the extent of it’s goodwill. It had made six escape attempts so far, once almost throwing itself to its death from a balcony. Skurge considered letting the tiny beast back into the forest, but seeing the animal trying, and failing, to catch a butterfly for the better part of an hour, he realized the clumsy little thing wasn’t going to make it five minutes in the big bad world. It needed a mother. And its mother was gone.

Both of Skurge’s problems somehow managed to solve themselves in one fell swoop a few days later when he had taken the bilgesnipe out to play in one of the castle’s abandoned gardens. It was in fact the same garden as the one where he had found Loki writing in his confusingly titled book not to long ago. Really, which one of the many returns was _The Heroic Return of Loki of Asgard_ titled after? The prince had returned too many times to count.

Deep in thought about this most relevant matter, Skurge didn’t notice that he suddenly had company in the garden. When he looked up, he found Queen Frigga seated under a tree, tiny bilgesnipe curled up in her lap. When she realized he was looking, the Queen met his eyes and smiled.

“This little boy tells me you have been holding him captive, why is that?” she seemed rather amused at the whole situation. Skurge only managed to stare at her for the longest moment.

“I found it- him?- in the woods a few miles from here. Some other Aesir had killed his mother in the hunt, and I guess I sort of figured he needed somebody else to look after him? It’s not been going great though.” He admitted, feeling very embarrassed, though he wasn’t sure why. For taking in an animal that a real soldier would have killed before it could grow up to pose a threat? For failing to take care of said animal? For not having managed to figure out if it was a boy or a girl? For just generally talking to the Queen?

“I see,” the Queen smiled, something sad entering her eyes. “It is a difficult thing, taking a boy from his family like that. Even if it has to be done. Even if it is what is best for everyone. The child is liable to lash out. Of course. We stole him after all. It is only natural. And quite fair. But it hurts nonetheless. Doesn’t it?”

Skurge nodded slowly. He was pretty sure the Queen was talking about somebody other than his little bilgesnipe, and he was not about to open _that_ can of worms. She didn’t seem bothered though, lost in her own thoughts.

“I will explain the matter to your little boy. A simple dream should be enough to make him understand.” the Queen continued, still almost absentmindedly, stroking the scales on the tiny bilgesnipe’s back. “What is his name?”

Skurge realized with a whole new jolt of embarrassment that he had in fact not bothered to name his little ward. And it had been days. He really was bad at this.

“I- uh- hadn’t…” he trailed of. Now would be a really good time to lie. Make something up. Skurge was pretty sure he had just managed to get the Queen to like him via some weird ‘I adopted random a thing that doesn’t like me’-mojo, and now he was going to ruin it.

“No? A name is important I suppose. Not a thing to take lightly and choose on a whim. Such a thing is bound to have consequences.” she said it like it was a matter she had experience with. And well, her murderous oldest daughter was named Hela, after all. He was almost about to say something (stupid) about that, when she continued. “But it is still of the essence that one is chosen eventually. A name is a bond. It makes for much of who we are and where we belong.”

“Yeah. I’ll make sure to give him a great name.” he assured her. Seemingly pleased by his answer, the Queen took the still sleeping bilgesnipe from her lap and placed it in the grass by her side, rising to her feet with all the grace of a true Queen.

The All-Mothwe had had time to nod toward him in farwell and begin turning away before Skurge realized there was something he needed to tell her. “I know where Loki is.”

“Do you now?” she turned back around, something sharp and calculating entering her eyes. Right. Not just a kind motherly figure, but the ruler of nine Realms. “And how is that?”

“I followed him.” the bulky Aesir blurted out. “I mean. What happened was. I met him. Here, actually. And he thought I was going to kill him. Which I wasn’t, of course. We are all dead anyway so- that’s not important. I mentioned he’s a lot like Hela, and then he freaked out, thinking she was still alive. Which she isn’t, by the way, so don’t you freak out too. And I reassured him she wasn’t. But then he...”

“Your a friend of Loki’s?” the Queen interrupted. Something like hope glittering in her eyes. What the Hel part of what he had just said made her think that? And what the Hel did one answer a mother and a Queen when she asked that question?

“I- don’t think so? Loki’s not really a friendship kinda guy, is he?” he tried, hoping to let her down gently. She didn’t seem dettered at all, though, instead smiling brightly at him, like he had just given her a great gift of some kind.

“No, no, he never was.” she waved her hand, dismissing the topic. “You were telling a story.”

“Right. Yeah. Anyway. Loki took off, rambling about Hel, after I told him Hela had been saying something about a wolf.” Skurge continued. “It took me a while, but finally I understood that he must have realized that she had headed of to Hel, so I followed him when he went looking for the Gate, and when he found it and was about to walk through, I tried to follow him. To help out, or something. But he wouldn’t let me and sent me back here. And walked through on his own. Next day, Odin shows up, and I figure, it’s gotta be thanks to Loki, right? He must have saved him and then stayed in Hel.”

Queen Frigga just stared at him. And then the widest, most genuine smile he had seen on her started pulling up her lips.

“You can not understand, until you are a parent, how truly glad I am to hear that.” Frigga chimed, glancing down at the sleeping bilgesnipe when she said the word parent.

“You’re glad to hear your son is in Hel?” 

“No, no, no. I knew of that already. I am glad to hear that my son has inspired such loyalty that one of his friends would attempt to follow him to Hel.” the Queen was practically singing. Skurge didn’t dare disillusion her. Besides, there was another part of what she had said for him to lash on to.

“You knew he was in Hel? I was under the impression that Odin had told no-one.”

“My husband has no secrets from me.” the Queen said with a snort at the mere thought. “We decided it was best this way. Valhalla is meant to be a happy place, we don’t need the people panicking over the fact that our somewhat- hm- dangerous daughter is gathering an army in Hel.”

Skurge decided not to point out that Hela was a lot more than _somewhat dangerous_ , and instead question the thing that had been at the back if his mind ever since Odin’s arrival. “And what about Loki? Your not going to tell anyone that he saved the All-Father?”

If he had been worried for a second about Queen Frigga being angry about him, very subtly mind you, accusing Odin of lying, any such fears were quickly dispelled. The Queen looked close to tears from happiness, probably at her kid’s ‘friend’ defending him.

“I am afraid we can not.” she said, sounding genuinely sad about that. “And I must ask that you also remain silent. If the Aesir of Valhalla learn that Loki, whom they have never trusted much, even before- ah- certain revelations, has the ability to cross between this land and Hel, they will also be frightened.”

Skurge nodded in agreement. Who was he going to tell anyway? He had told the Queen because she seemed so distressed. He didn’t really care if Loki wanted to hang out in Hel with his crazy sister. Go riddance of both of them.

Queen Frigga made a strange little motion forwards, as if she perhaps wanted to touch him. Hug him? Then seemed to change her mind and gave another nod of farewell before walking away. 

In the grass, the nameless bilgesnipe stirred in her absence. When he woke, he looked up at the Aesir warrior standing above him with sleepy eyes. After yawning, the little animal tilted his head to the side in a way that was very much like Frigga, and then, very slowly, walked over an buffed his head gently against Skurge’s leg, before continuing out of the garden. The bald warrior just stood there a moment, pretty sure his face was making an expression quite close to Frigga’s tearfilled smile, before following his little ward back inside.

\---

Had Skurge thought Loki was gone from Valhalla for good? Well, if he had, he had been oh so wrong. 

When the former Executioner and his tiny bilgesnipe returned to their chambers, they found the God of Lies lying on his back on one of Skurge’s sofas, throwing a small pebble up into the air, over and over again. When Skurge just stopped and stared at him, Loki seemed to grow bored of his little trick and threw the stone at his host. Skurge caught it in the air on reflex.

“Souvenir!” the fallen prince declared, still lying on the sofa. “I heard you _really_ wanted to get into Hel, but couldn’t, so I brought you back a small piece of it!”

 _Why in Bor’s name would I want that?_ and _What the Hel are you doing here?_ did battle in the bald warriors mind, but in the end he settled for; “I just spoke to your mother. She’s worried about you.”

A look passed across the prince’s face, blink and you’d miss it, but Skurge found, despite his better judgment, that he was getting used to reading the God of Lies. A moment later, the smug, unaffected look was back. “No need. I’m doing great. But I will need you to go talk to her again for me.”

“You want me to pass a message on to your mum? Can’t you just go talk to her yourself?” seriously, what was this all about. And how was Skurge suddenly back in the middle of the royal family drama? He had honestly been trying to avoid this sort of thing.

“Well, I could do that. But I am sort of planning to betray Valhalla. Frigga is going to make her disappointed face when she learns about it, and I’d much rather not be there for that.” the prince said, still almost painfully nonchalant.

“Your planning to betray Valhalla? But you want to tell us beforehand?” once again, it was probably time to give up. Skurge was simply never going to understand why the God of Mischief did anything.

“I said _sort of_ betray Valhalla. I am helping Hela get her army here, but I don’t actually wish for her to enslave all the Lands of the Dead, so I need the All-Father to have his forces ready when we arrive. Does that make sense?” he waved his hands as he spoke, illustrating some point. It did not make sense.

“Ok. But why? What’s the point?” 

“No point. I just feel like it.” the God of Lies sat up on the sofa, profile toward Skurge. “Give the stone to my mother, she’ll get all the information she needs from there. And if the All-Father needs a clue - he might, old gods have fuzzy memories - tell him _Asgard burned and all things died with it._ ”

“That’s suitably vague, but…” Skurge trailed of as the Trickster disappeared in a shimmer of green right in front of his eyes. “ _Bastard._ ”

“ _Adopted._ ” corrected a disembodied voice.

\---

Once again, Skurge, former Gatekeeper and Executioner, stood outside the great oak doors to the royal wing. Once again facing six fully armed Einherjar. Once again for the sake of one very selfish Trickster prince.

“What now, traitor?” the leader of the Einherjar asked, clearly out of patience. Part of Skurge wanted to inform him that he was indeed not being obnoxious, that he now had a whole _new_ matter to bring to the Queen’s attention, but what was the point?

“I have dire news for the All-Father and All-Mother’s ears only.” he told them, trying to sound important. It did not work.

“Remove yourself from these premises, or we will move you.” straight to the threats this time, they really were out of patience. Skurge took a step forward. Might as well get this over with.

As if on cue, all of the Einherjar lowered their spears and went to surround him in a half circle. But the bald warrior had been one of them once, and he knew their tactics. Weakest link in the middle, where the opponent was least likely to strike. Skurge struck there.

Swatting the two spears straight in front of him aside with his sword, it was no problem for the bulky Aesir to also cut down their two owners. Wearing his full armor now, the Aesir was a force to be reckoned with. He went for the two Einherjar to his left next, hoping to cause a panic by cutting down the groups leader. He managed this easily enough, but what he had not counted on was the two remaining men behind him running away.

He had expected the two to attempt to subdue him from behind, and had been ready to turn and face them. Instead, the two Einherjar still standing began running down the corridor, calling for backup. _Not good._

The downside to Skurge’s heavy armor was that it made him very slow. He could try to chase after them, but in all likelihood they would easily outrun him. The bald warrior gave up the thought and turned to face the doors. They were _very_ heavy. No doubt the real reason for the six soldiers stationed outside them was to have enough muscle to open them. Putting all of his non-neglectable strength behind the push, Skurge managed to force one of the doors partially open, and squeezed inside.

This was about as far as Skurge had planned his brave quest to save Asgard, and, as always, a flaw appeared in his machinations almost immediately - the royal wing was huge. Not just big, _enormous_. There were too many rooms to count, floor, upon floor of corridors that stretched seemingly forever. Skurge found a bath with natural hot springs, an armory with weapons to outfit an army, a training room with an indoor archery practice range, dozens of different lounge rooms and even more guest bedrooms, but no All-Mother. 

Soon, he could hear the Einherjar reinforcements coming towards him through the many corridors. He thought of trying to shake them of and run, but what would be the point? There was nowhere to run to. Valhall was the only inhabited place in all of Valhalla, and the Gate to Hel had been sealed shut by the very same Trickster that had also put him in this position to begin with.

It had crossed his mind for a moment that maybe that was what this was, a trick, a prank by the God of Lies on the stupid traitor soldier. It really might be. The former Executioner wouldn’t put it past the Trickster. The god had pretended to be Odin for years seemingly only to annoy all of Asgard. But it could also be real, and if it was, and Skurge had ignored the warning, he would be the one to blame when Hela enslaved Valhalla.

His best option now was to surrender and hope that the Einherjar would bring him before the King and Queen for trial - and that they’d then let him explain himself. Slim chance, but it was the best he had. Throwing his sword on the ground and raising his hands in the air, the warrior turned around to face the onslaught of Einherjar coming down the corridor towards him. 

The charging soldiers had far too much momentum to stop on such short notice, however, and so they crashed into Skurge, pulling both him and themselves to the floor. They all lay there, sprawling, for a moment before a few of them managed to find their balance, grabbed Skurges arms and pulled him up between them. He decided to feel flattered rather than insulted when they seemed to decide that five of them were necessary to hold him, with another two dozen marching in front and behind down the corridor.

“What in the name of my Father is going on here?” Odin’s encreduled voice rang through the entrance hall to the royal wing as they approached it. The King had come down another staircase and stood waiting for the Einherjar when they entered the room. And behind him, thank the Norns, stood Queen Frigga.

“Brave Einherjar, will you be so kind as to unhand my son’s friend.” the Queen almost asked the soldiers, and they complied at once, stepping away from Skurge as they did.

“This is one of Thor’s friends? I don’t remember him.” Odin declared. 

“Oh, no, darling. This is _Loki’s_ friend. Skurge of the battle of Vanaheim.” Odin looked incredulous, and Skurge himself actually felt his jaw drop. She must have looked him up somehow, after deciding that he was Loki’s new best friend, but it was still rather surreal to have the Queen of Asgard introduce him to her husband.

Odin eyed him suspiciously. “And what, pray tell, are you doing in here, fighting the Einherjar, Skurge Friend of Loki.”

So that was going to be his new title now? Skurge supposed it was better than _Traitor to Asgard_ , but only by a slim margin. It didn’t matter right now though, because he had a mission to complete. He turned to the Queen.

“Loki came to- eh- visit me, I guess, and asked me to bring you a message.” the Queen, who had lit up at his initial words, looked worried, and that worry grew into a storm of emotions as Skurge continued to speak. “He said he was going to _sort of_ betray Valhalla, by bringing Hela and her army of dishonorable dead through, but that he didn’t want them to win, and would therefore give you the information needed to defeat them - in this.”

The former Executioner held out the small stone Loki had given him, and the Queen took it without hesitation. When she held it, it glowed green, and her eyes widened slightly. Without a word, she handed the stone to her husband, who gave a very similar reaction. 

“We must gather our forces at once, war is coming to Valhalla.” the Einherjar, who had been looking pretty confused by the entire exchange, perked up at the concrete order from their King and began forming in to groups to head out and spread the word across the castle.

“There was another thing,” Skurge continued through the sudden commotion, still speaking directly to the Queen, trying to remember the exact wording. “Your son also said, that should Odin need a clue as to what to do, I had to remind him that Asgard has burned, and that all things have died with it.”

Frigga looked confused for a moment, and then seemed to realize something, quickly turning to Odin, who was busy giving orders and directions to the assembled Einherjar.

“Husband, it seems I am needed elsewhere. I shall hopefully return for the battle, but until then, I have a quest of my own to fulfill.”

“Very well, you shall be missed, fair Queen.” Odin answered her. Something stern and regal had come over his face as he prepared for the war, but when he turned to his wife, Skurge could see a joy glitter in the depths of his eyes, a lust for battle.

The King and Queen shared a light kiss before Odin was swept away by his preparations again, stalking of with a platoon of Einherjar while shouting orders at another. Soon, Queen Frigga and Skurge were alone in the entrance hall.

“Very well then, Skurge Friend of Loki.” she said the words very differently from Odin. Where her husband had said them almost like an insult, the Queen spoke them as if she was tasting them, testing them out with her tongue. Had Loki really _never_ had a single friend before? “How would you like a job?”

Skurge flinched and froze at the words, but when he looked back at the Queen, she was smiling a smile full of mischief. Did she know?

“What did you have in mind?” he asked her, still cautious.

“Why, a grand heroic quest of course!” her eyes were still all mischief. Skurge knew many Aesir who had claimed to have known all along when it came out that the youngest prince was in fact not Odin’s blood, but when the Queen smiled like that, it was actually still hard for Skurge to believe that she was not truly his mother. “I, the Queen of Valhalla, would like for you to be my escort as I set out to reclaim an object that will be of great importance in the coming war.”

“And what is this object?” Skurge may have been asking a question, but the smile on his face said he had already agreed to help.

“Gjallarhorn, the great caller to arms, of course!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whaaat? A cliffhanger? I’ve never written one of those before. I mean. The other chapters ended pretty openly, but this is the first real “To Be Continued”. Because yes, this is part 1 of 2. I do feel I must apologize for the slow build in this part. When I first did the storyboard for this it was meant to be one chapter, but then a certain bilgesnipe wrote ca 5000 words about himself and we ended up with a bit of a 3 movies for the Hobbit (yes, I am still mad about that) typa situation… Either way, part 2 is well on the way and I will be posting that in the coming days - so maybe see you then?
> 
> Also. Final note. The bilgesnipe is red with black antlers, because imagine how badass Skurge will look riding it into battle in his all-black armor after it grows up!! Those are the sorts of things I concentrate on while writing...


	4. Gullinkambe, Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After multiple massive, MASSIVE, rewrites, it is finally here - the second part of Skurges wonky side-quest. The master and muse of this work is as always @MagicalGirlHell. And, also as always, if you feel the need to scream at me in the comments about any of the uh… liberties… I’ve taken with the source-material (they are worse than ever in this one) please do so!
> 
>  _Relevant Note!_ I added an “Infinity War Spoilers” tag to this. Not because of actual spoilers, but because I was worried people would read the description and get mad at me even though it really has nothing to do with the movie itself… I don’t want people to be mad at me… Anyway. If you’ve already read this far, there are no new spolier coming or anything - so no worries!
> 
> And lo, the epic telling continues!

Skurge was once again following a member of Asgard’s royalty through a forest. Third time now. He silently wondered if this was simply going to be his entire life - death - from now on. Part of some ironic punishment for his treason deviced by the Norns. Probably. At least this time it wasn’t going to end in pointlessness or, you know, a bloodbath.

In front of him, Frigga, former Queen of Asgard, current Queen of Valhalla, was striding through the undergrowth. _Striding_ , or possibly _gliding_ , because the blonde Vanir seemed completely unaffected by the fact that they were no longer inside the halls of Valhall. Each of her steps through the mud and bushes as elegant as if she had been walking across the stone floors of one of the castles corridors. Her long dress in light grey and green Alfheim velvet never caught on any branches, her long golden hair in its elaborate updo with silver - maybe white gold - pins was never ruffled by twigs or leaves.

Behind her, Skurge felt a bit like the little bilgesnipe he had adopted, brawling through the forest, actually physically walking _into_ two trees as they went. The ethereal image of the Queen was only heightened by the very large, very dangerous looking sword she had strapped to her back before they left the royal chambers. After Skurge had agreed to come with her on her epic heroic quest, the beautiful Vanir had begged him wait a minute while she _went to featsh something they might need_ , her exact words, and had then disappeared, only to return with a weapon possibly bigger than Skurge’s own wrapped in silk.

Not that a lady with a sword made Skurge uncomfortable. He had always admired - read envied - the Lady Sif, and had quite recently spent a great deal of time with Hela, the Goddess of Conjuring Infinite Weapons, but the All-Mother in one of her finest ballgowns and a huge sword flung across her shoulders was _a bit_ much to take in. She had always seemed so, so, Queenly. Standing next to her husband, silent and watchful. Then again, Loki had seemed pretty subdued too, all the way up until he usurped the throne and tried to blow up Jotunheim, so what did Skurge know?

The bald warrior’s own sword was back, comfortably strapped between his shoulderblades, after Frigga had sent some of the Einherjar back down the corridor in the royal wing where they had unceremoniously left it. Its weight steadied him. It wasn’t quite Hofund, and he had always prefered a two-handed ax to a sword in combat, but both those options were very much cut of. Hofund because Heimdall had stolen - yes, stolen, Skurge had gotten the position as Gatekeeper perfectly legitimately - that back almost immediately after Hela’s arrival on Asgard, and any ax bigger than the small double ones from Vanaheim because they all brought back uncomfortable memories. Of almost executing innocent civilians, mostly.

\---

Evening was falling around the odd pair as they left the forest and stepped out onto one of Valhalla’s many fields. More a meadow than a field, the almost circular, treeless area was filled with flowers. Purple, yellow and red, all lifted toward the sky on kneeheight green spiers. The green was cut through in the middle by a thin ribbon of blue, water flowing out of the forest and down a small hill where the meadow ended. Below the hill, a field in truth began as grassland stretched toward the horizon and the dim final rays of sunlight.

“Where to now, ma’am?” the Aesir in dark armor asked his Queen when she stopped, looking out over the landscape stretching before them. 

“We’re here.” the Queen answered him, smile that meant she understood his confusion and was at least a little bit encouraging it on purpose on her lips as she gestured to the great emptiness before them - another expression he knew her youngest son could mirror to a tee.

“And what _is_ here, exactly?” part of Skurge didn’t want to encourage her, but there was something terribly endearing about the Queen’s obvious excitement at their quest. 

“The bearer of the horn that was once made into the great Caller to Arms, Gjallarhorn.” the bald warrior raised his eyebrows at her in silent question, so the Queen chuckled and continued. “Loki’s riddle; _When Asgard burned, all things died with it_. Aesir, spirits, animals, everything that was alive on Asgard when it burned is now here, somewhere. Down there is one of those things.”

As the ancient Vanir pointed, Skurge was able to catch a glimpse of a creature down in the tall grass and falling darkness bellow. It looked big.

“And you want me to kill it and cut of its horn?” slay some huge mythical creature? Sounded like a perfectly good get-Valhalla-to-like-me-quest. It even involved hunting, just like the God of Lies had suggested.

“No and yes,” the Queen answered, eyes twinkling. “It is not like the native beasts of Valhalla. This is an honorable dead of Asgard, if you kill it, it will simply regenerate, taking the horn back. We need to cut of one of the horns of _without_ killing it.”

“Right then, let’s get to it, your Majesty.” the former Executioner made a bow and gestured for the Queen to continue ahead of him. Despite the warrior’s better judgment, her excitement was rubbing of on him.

“Oh, don’t start with the titles now, Skurge. Any friend of my children’s is a friend of mine!” the All-Mother told him with a bright smile, and began walking down the hill toward the endless green below.

 _Even friends of Hela?_ Skurge did not ask, because as weird as it was, having the Queen liking him was pretty darn neat. And she had been able to convince his bilgesnipe ward he wasn’t a prisoner in like five minutes after Skurge’s week of trying, so maybe he should give her parenting some slack.

\---

The creature that bore the great Yelling-horn was even bigger up close. The beast looked very much like an oversized goat. At least twice as big as Thor’s Toothgnasher and Toothgrinder. Gray fur and darting black eyes. Large pointed horns adorning its head. Sharp horns. 

The former Executioner drew his sword. Time to be heroic.

“You can’t use that.” the Queen informed him, hint of amusement in her voice. “I am sure it is a fine enough blade for ordinary tasks, but here we are fighting a legend.”

She drew the sword from her own back. It was, as Skurge had suspected, perhaps a hands length taller than his own sword - which had been the biggest one he could find in the armories of Valhall - and richly adorned. A pattern of flowers and leaves was etched into the metal of the blade itself and the handle, which was also made from some sort of metal, was a deep, brownish red, the guards pointed slightly upwards around the blade like little horns.

“This,” the Queen of Valhalla continued. “Is Sumarbrand. It was forged with the intent of slaying Surtur, the only weapon capable of such an act, enchanted to fight by itself in the hands of a worthy warrior, and lost, eons ago.”

“You _lost_ the one sword capable of truly defeating Surtur?” the bald Aesir said, deciding to stick to that detail despite all the other mythical epicness the Queen was telling him. Skurge was not a pessimist. He was a realist.

“Well,” the beautiful Vanir actually somehow managed to look a bit sheepish. “It is a very long story, but suffice to say it was Frey’s fault. Mainly. There was also a very pretty Giantess involved. And some very foolish servants.”

Seeming to think that was all that needed to be said on the subject, Queen Frigga unceremoniously handed over the legendary blade to the traitor. Not wanting to give her enough time to change her mind about that decision, Skurge quickly dropped his own sword to the ground and took the new one in his hands. 

Sumarbrand was surprisingly light. If he wanted, the Aesir warrior might even be able to wield it in one hand. He let it fall through the air a few times, causing soft whooshing sounds as it cut through the emptiness. When he turned it on the grass, the feeling was no different, the thick, green blades falling to his steel one with no resistance. There was also something else there. A feeling like a second gravity, the sword pulling on its own. When the former Executioner took a testing step forward, the sword smoothly followed, sweeping through the air with him.

“Woah!” was all he managed to say in comment. The sensation of a sword that was more an extension of his arm then any other he had ever wielded, yet at the same time alive in its own right, almost sentient, was indescribable.

The golden Queen just kept smiling at him, amusement and approval mingling in her eyes and at the tips of her lips. 

“ I shall distract him, you slice the horn of.” she told him as she once again began striding away through the grass, Skurge following closely behind. “And do not worry about ruining the distraction, you’re already invisible.” 

As the gigantic goat noticed them (or perhaps only the blond Vanir, if the bald Aesir was really invisible - he could still see himself just fine) it began to make threatening huffs and punch its enormous hoofs into the ground, making the grass around it shake slightly at the tremors. It did not, however, charge, and when Skurge threw a glance at the Queen, he could see her expression shifting and her hands gesturing softly in the air, the way he had noticed they did when she spoke. Was Frigga talking to the creature? 

Whatever she was doing, it was clearly working well as a distraction, because when the former Executioner began moving closer to the goat, after stepping around it in a wide circle, it did not react at all. Reaching the animals left side from behind, Skurge very, very slowly and carefully lifted the legendary sword he had been loaned by Frigga above his head, and then let the large blade fall.

The sword itself made sure to hit its mark perfectly, sinking into the horn right above the root. There was only one, tinsy, tiny, problem. Whatever the horn was made of was very, very dense. Sumarbrand sunk a little more than halfway into its target, and then stuck there.

Realizing what had just happened, the gigantic goat began charging away from its invisible attacker, straight toward the Queen. Frigga, for her part, made no move to flee, run away or even to step aside. The All-Mother remained where she was, continuing, it seemed, to speak to the monster speeding toward her. 

Skurge was still holding on to his sword with everything he was worth and therefore flew with the beast as it made to trample the Queen. He tried to call out in warning to the ancient Vanir, only to have his teeth slam down hard on his tongue. As they approached the goat’s target, Skurge could do nothing but panic. All memory of their already-dead-ness lost. Crazy thoughts flying through his mind. Thoughts like whether or not he would be invited to the Queen’s funeral - he felt he ought to honor her somehow. And then, realizing that would involve speaking to Odin again, how he was ever going to be able to explain this to the All-Father. _Sorry, your Majesty, but your wife sort of got trampled by a gigantic goat._ That would go over well.

Then, as suddenly as the charge had began, it ended. The former Executioner, still holding the handle of his sword with cramping fingers, looked around. The Queen stood, right where she had before the attack, perfectly unharmed. As Skurge starred, her image flickered, and the illusion disappeared in a shimmering of green light. 

The goat looked about as confused as Skurge felt. It looked around, searching for its target, causing Skurge to sway back and forth, hanging on his sword.

The motion actually helped. When the bulky Aesir’s weight caused Sumarbrand to make a particularly strong bend on the horn, it broke free, making a deafening _click_ noise as it did. Sword, Aesir and horn fell to the ground, and the goat quickly turned to stare at the three of them, confusion turning to bewilderment turning to rage in its eyes. Skurge grabbed the two mythical objects and ran.

The running did not do a whole lot. After the second of headstart that Skurge got, as the beast tried to figure out what in the Nine was going on, the goat quickly caught up with him, and the impact of the animals skull to his back threw the bald Aesir several meters into the air. Fortunately for Skurge, the goat was not yet used to having only one horn, and so it miscalculated its deadliness severely, hitting the Aesir with only the non-scarp, now hornless side of its head. As a result, the warrior landed in the grass bruised, but not otherwise terribly injured or maimed.

Bad new was, of course, the the goat soon realized its mistake, and began a new charge. Skurge, who had only just managed to sit up after his hard landing, could once again do nothing but stare at the gigantic enemy rapidly approaching him. Not being allowed to kill the goat made everything significantly harder. There was, thankfully, somebody else there able to save an Aesir warrior in distress.

“Close your eyes,” Frigga's voice came from somewhere close to his right ear, and then, the world became a dizzying blur.

\---

Waking up again, Skurge rather wished he hadn’t. He was laying on his back in grass, much shorter than his brain told him it should be, and staring up at a starfilled black sky. He knew that a number of injuries and fractures where healing all across his body, even though he could feel no pain. What he could feel however, was the world - spinning. Everything was off somehow, wrong. He tried to raise a hand to his face and was genuinely surprised when he could.

“Try not to move too much.” the All-Mother’s voice came from somewhere to his left, further away then before. She sounded worried, and apologetic. “Shadow-walking takes quite a lot of getting used to. The mind isn’t fully prepared to move from one place in reality to another so fast. When I brought Loki along for the first time - after he begged me to take him, mind you - he was sick for days after. I wouldn’t normally take somebody so unused to magic, but there were not many options available.”

It was no apology. Queens of Asgard and Valhalla probably never apologised, but it was closer than Hela or Loki would ever get.

“Na. No worries. I’m pretty though. You get the horn?” the warrior managed to ask her. He tried closing his eyes, but that only made the spinning worse, so he quickly opened them again.

“Yes, I did,” the Queen answered. Sounding relieved at the change of subject. “It still needs hollowing out, and then I must put some enchantments on it, but I should have it ready by sun-up.”

A thought crossed Skurge’s still slightly rotating mind. “And then what are we going to do with it?”

“A relic of the Old days, any relic, is a powerful symbol. A relic like this one, the horn of the First Protector of Asgard, even more so. In the time of my husbands father, when Asgard was not yet the power in the cosmos it would one day become, the horn would often sound as attackers came to the gods shores, think them young and weak. All attackers falling to the armies warned by the Caller to Arms. Even my own people.” the Queen trailed of there, lost in some memory.

“So we went to get the horn because of _symbolism_?” as much as he tried, Skurge could not keep all of his exasperation out of his voice. Queen or no Queen, if this had been another pointless journey, the warrior silently vowed he was going to make her come along on that really long, truly meaningless walk through this forest he had already planned for the God of Mischief. Someday. Cost what price it may.

“Yes,” the Queen of Valhalla told him, with smile that said she knew she was confusing him and was rather enjoying it back in her voice. “Symbols are very important.”

A beat of silence. A short one though, as Skurge was still trying to figure out if the Queen was making a dramatic pause or waiting for him to ask another question when she continued.

“Have you noticed that there are no Valkyries in Valhall?” the bald warrior had in fact _not_ noticed, as he had been avoiding most everyone, but thankfully that question was fully rhetorical. “I wondered when I first arrived, but it seems Asgard’s most formidable warriors have not slept a single night in the Hall of the Most Honorable for eons. Yet they are still here, in Valhalla. Hela killed them all, you see. Once, after Odin had imprisoned her, our daughter almost broke free, and we had to send the Valkyries to stop her. They succeeded, but at terrible cost. When they arrived in Valhalla, thinking their service done, they took what sisters of theirs were already there and left, wanting nothing more to do with the land they had once served. They built their own hall in the mountains, and there they have remained ever since.”

“But we need them to come back down now, to help fight of Hela?” with his interest piqued by this new exposition, Skurge managed to overcome his dizziness and sit up to look at the All-Mother. She looked sad, heavy weight on her shoulders, but at his question her lips quirked ever so slightly upwards.

“We do,” she confirmed. “The question is, would they come? Perhaps they would do it gladly - they might rejoice at this chance to get back at their murderer. But they might also refuse, wishing for the All-Father to handle his own problems, not wanting to die again for something that now truly amounts to nothing. Or they might do neither, take to long to decide and leave us to fight alone anyway.”

“And the horn prevents that?”

“All the Valkyrie swore an oath when they joined the order. They did not swear loyalty to any King, Queen or family, in case of changing times, but instead swore to answer the call of a certain horn. To come and protect their people at its signal.” Frigga was smiling properly again, and her smile was very contagious. They were going to call down the actual Valkyrie, the great warriors of legend. If that was not epic, Skurge was not sure what was.

\---

Queen Frigga finished her work on the stolen horn before the sun rose. Skurge watched as the last of the sparkling green of the All-Mother’s magic faded and she held the horn up to examine it in the grey light of dawn. She had polished it white, and covered it in carved runes, which still shimmered green whenever the weak lighting hit them at the right angle. The horn was quite straight, a single, tight curl at the tip, and about the length of Skurge’s lower arm. When the Queen handed it to him, it felt heavy in his hands.

“Would you do the honors?” she asked him as if she was wondering if he might like to make a toast at some marginally important feast. It took the bald Aesir a moment to figure out how to do anything other than stare at her. How did stuff like this keep happening to him? 

“You want _me_ to use the horn?” he had to clarify, just to be sure.

“I can’t do it, it has to be an Aesir.” the Queen was raising her eyebrows at him again. “I assure you the horn will not harm or poison you in any way.”

The former Executioner decided not to point out to the blond Vanir that that was a strange thing to assure someone of. He figure was probably something royalty had to do all the time. Especially royalty related to certain gods of lies. Instead, both trying to make sure that Frigga knew he did in fact not suspect her of attempting to murder him, and also to not give her time to change her mind, Skurge lifted the horn to his lips and blew.

Gjallarhorn rang out across Valhalla and the lands beyond in a single deep note. The sound awoke something old inside Skurge, foreign yet at the same time so very familiar. It was calling him home, calling him to fight and draw blood in the name of his people. An ancient, hungry sound. He blew the horn again.

Nine times the horn rang across the fields and forests of Valhalla, once for every realm. It felt right that way. When the Aesir warrior finally lowered the horn, the Queen nodded her approval and accepted it back, hiding it away in some pocket dimension with a flick of her wrists. They remained standing afterwards, silently waiting. Skurge wondered what she felt, the Queen whose people had been the first conquered by the Aesir, so many millennia ago. What had the sound made her remember?

\---

The Valkyrie arrived just as they had in legend, falling out of the sky with the rising sun to their backs, swords drawn, wings of white pegasuses casting dark shadows on the ground. Skurge felt a weird urge to bow, but remained standing upright next to the Queen. He had called them here. He had been Keeper of the Bifrost. He had helped save the people of Asgard. He had this.

They even landed in formation, each of the Ladies of Battle taking her place in a spearhead pointed at the Queen and the former Executioner from across the clearing, their leader at the tip. She was, like all her sisters, dressed in the traditional white uniform of the Valkyrar, light blond hair falling around a beautiful, surprisingly young face. Sheeting her sword and sitting down from her winged horse, the Captain of the Valkyrie began walking toward them, flanked on each side by one of her sisters.

“All-Mother,” the blond Valkyrie greeted the Queen of Valhalla with a simple nod, face expressionless.

“Captain,” Queen Frigga smiled a smile Skurge now, after spending way more time in her company then he had ever thought he would, knew to be false. A diplomatic, respectful gesture with no joy. When she bent her head in greeting she was in every inch the graceful Queen Skurge had always seen standing by the throne. 

“You can not have summoned us,” a statement, not a question. No honorific attached either, and Skurge was pretty sure the Valkyrie was not friends with any of Frigga’s kids.

“I did not,” the Queen gestured toward her armored companion. “He did.”

They all turned to look at the former Executioner, and all Skurge wanted to do was run in the opposite direction. This was the Captain of the Valkyrie and her most trusted lieutenants, and he had been stopping himself from running up to them telling them just how amazing that was ever since they landed. But they were also in the middle of some complicated diplomatic power struggle with the Queen, in which he felt he ought to have Frigga’s back. And now, they were all waiting for him to introduce himself. He _had_ this.

“I’m Skurge.” the Aesir said and then, when he sort of felt like they were all still waiting for him to continue with something, added. “Friend of Loki.”

A beat passed as the Valkyries stared at him in confusion while a genuine smile formed on the All-Mothers face, her eyes twinkling again. Skurge was sort of starting to get why the god with whom he had just claimed friendship hadn’t wanted to break the news of the coming invasion to her himself - Frigga being anything other then happy was mildly devastating.

“And why _Skurge_ have you summoned us?” the blond leader recovered first, and her steely, grey eyes fixed his.

“Hela is coming,” he told them, impressed at how calm and collected he sounded. “She has gathered an army of dishonorable dead from Hel and found a way to bring them here, all with the goal of conquering Valhalla.”

“It is what she was raised to do,” Frigga didn’t speak or show any outward emotion at the Captain’s words, but Skurge could feel something in the air around her shift ever so slightly. “Raised by a clever parent. We will come, All-Mother. We will always heed the call of Gjallarhorn, even to defend a people who now despise us-”

“You think the Aesir in Valhall despise you?” Skurge interjected before he could stop himself.

“Of course,” the blond Valkyrie answered, voice of ice. “And why should they not? We killed the woman who led them all into the glorious battles that sent them here.”

“Yeah. That _was_ probably true, like a couple of thousand years ago. Now, you are legends. They sing songs about you, about the battles you fought, the monsters you’ve slain. If you came to Valhall, they’d throw you guys the biggest party ever seen in the Land of the Dead, and that’s really saying something.” despite Skurge’s best efforts, he was quite certain that a lot of his own excitement at seeing the Valkyries was bleeding through in his voice.

When the Valkyries once again started to look as though Skurge was the strangest creature they had ever encountered, Frigga stepped in to clarify. “Odin removed every memory of Hela. Form the paintings to the history books. No-one who died after you will still remember her as a hero. They know nothing, or only whispered stories of a Butcher.”

“You erased your own child?” the Captain sounded somewhere between impressed and disgusted. A glance at Frigga showed Skurge eyes filled with sorrow.

“Summary: Nobody hates you and there is a big battle to be fought! Let’s go do that?” not very subtle, but it seemed to work. Skurge mentally patted himself on the back as the blond Valkyrie gave Frigga another one of her quick nods before turning and walking back toward her soldiers. The two lieutenants, both with black hair, one with dark skin and the other with light, looked as though they wanted to ask something more, but then turned around and followed their commander.

The former Executioner remained standing next to Frigga as they watched the Ladies of Battle fly of toward the battlefield. The Queen stood very still for a long moment, unreadable expression on her face. Then she seemed to shake herself out of whatever thought was holding her and began to stride of after the Valkyries. 

“We should also go.” was all she said.

\---

The battle was not far. Already from the clearing where they had met the Valkyries, Skurge could hear the clashing of arms - a noise which only grew louder as they approached. By the time they stepped out onto the battlefield itself, it had become deafening.

In front of them was chaos. Tall gray mountains and a dark waterfall framed the field of once yellow grass on which the battle was fought. Blood of hundreds of Aesir had already dyed much of the field red, and more was to come. An army of soldiers in Hela’s (or Loki’s) black and green colors marched steadily forward, pushing into the lines of Aesir from Valhalla on their side of the clearing. In the middle of their lines, Hela and her army had fully broken through, straight to Odin All-Father.

The King was battling his dark children, and they seemed to be winning. Hela and Loki were dancing around their ancient father, the Goddess of Death with a pair of her black swords hacking at his defences, the God of Lies throwing knife after knife while also blocking the All-Father’s magic. Frigga was already moving toward that fight, drawing a long, elegant sword out of thin air as she went, and Skurge followed.

Before they could reach her husband, however, blocking a knife of Loki’s left the King’s right side wide open, and Hela moved to strike. Frigga disappeared from beside Skurge and a moment later arrived at the All-Father’s side, blocking Hela’s attack, smiling as her son made some comment on her sudden appearance before engaging in a duel with him. 

The former Executioner, unable to teleport, was still a long way away from the royal battle, but he valiantly began making his way toward it, killing Hela’s soldiers and watching them fade away in clouds of black smoke as he went, still using Sumarbrand as his own sword lay abandoned on a field far away. Frigga’s prowess in battle was far beyond anything he had imagined, if her dance-like fencing in full ballgown against a son who could go toe to toe with Thor was any indication, but she might still need some backup.

In the end, the bald warrior never got to find out whether Frigga needed backup or not, as an oversized wolf suddenly blocked his path. As Skurge’s sword sunk into his paw, Fenris turned around, recognition sparking in his eyes, and began to growl. The wolf used his other paw to swatt aside whatever enemy he had been fighting previously, and moved to strike at the Aesir who had betrayed his mistress, huge teeth moving toward Skurge at an alarming speed.

Sumarbrand struck upward, fast. The legendary sword connected with Fenris eye and the wolf pulled away, avoiding most of the blow but also failing to bit any part of his bald Aesir pray off. Skurge cheered, holding his loaned blade up above his head.

“Alright sword!” the warrior called, not entirely sure whether the weapon being lightly sentient meant it actually understood speech, and not caring all that much in that particular moment. “Let’s see what else you can do!”

The wolf and the Aesir might have battled for years or seconds - Skurge quickly lost track time as he blocked and parried the wolf’s blows, feeling Sumarbrand fight along with him. It was amazing. Around them, the sounds of battle slowly died down. From the corner of his eye, the bald warrior could see Frigga and her husband still dueling their children, and due to most other soldiers already having fallen, Skurge now had a clear path to assist them.

Snapping his eyes back to Fenris, Skurge realized that was probably not going to be an option. He had, however, thought of a simple, but, if he were to say so himself, rather genius strategy for taking down this gigantic wolf he was currently fighting. The warrior felt Sumarbrand pull upward in his hand and figured that meant the sword agreed with him on the best course of action.

Focusing on the path before him, Skurge lifted his blade until it pointed straight upward and then charged bilgesnipe-style at Fenris. The wolf, as expected, opened his maws in welcoming, ready to swallow the Aesir whole, and when he did the force of Skurge’s charge, along with the wolf’s own hungry greed, pushed the Aesir’s blade deep into his throat. Fenris teeth also sank deep into the Aesir’s guts, causing him to lose far to much blood, far to fast to remain standing once the wolf dissolved, but since Skurge was already dead, it didn’t really matter.

\---

“I’m still not sure if I should be impressed or stupefied by you.” a familiar voice woke Skurge. He was still on the battlefield, laying on his back where he had fallen. When he lifted his head, he could see shimmering green magic flowing around his body, apparently speeding up whatever healing process normally put the dead Aesir of Valhalla back together. “Do you just end up in these situations at random, or did you actually plan for this?”

“Maybe the Fates decided it?” the bald warrior answered the Trickster god when his eyes finally found him. Loki was sitting on a pile of corpses a few steps away, legs crossed, elbows on his knees and head resting in his pale hands. Skurge wondered what they looked like blue.

“There are no Fates.” the God of Lies told him resolutely, still looking out over the battlefield rather then at Skurge, his magic pulling the last of Skurge’s wounds back together.

“Do you have another message for your mum?” the bald Aesir tried, attempting to figure out the point of this particular meeting with the prince. There was always something with Loki.

“No,” came the entirety of the unhelpful answer.

“So then why are you here stitching me up with your magic?” 

“I decided it was a fitting way to repay you for helping avert total Hela dominion of the Afterlife.” the dark haired god shrugged, still watching something in the distance. “Oh. And I thought it polite to inform you that my barrier between this land and Hel failed this morning, if you still want to go there on some quest or other.”

“You’re not coming back?” some part of Skurge compelled him to ask. Maybe the part that had started to think of the Queen as _Frigga_.

“Oh no. I think I burned that particular bridge pretty thoroughly.” the god actually chuckled. “If you want to be really meta, you might say I broke it with a big electrified hammer.”

“Frigga is going to be sad.” the warrior told the Trickster, again without really meaning to. The whole All-Mother thing was really getting to him.

“So you’re friends with the All-Mother now?” Loki sounded annoyed for a moment and looked as though he wanted to debate the probability if that, but then simply shrugged again. “See, that’s exactly what I’m talking about! How do these things just happen to you?”

“Been asking myself that all day.” Skurge informed him. That made the god laugh again, and he was still laughing as his image flickered and disappeared in green light. The now fully healed former Executioner rose to his feet and began walking away across the bloodied field toward the spot Loki had been watching, and the All-Mother.

\---

There was a great feast celebrating the victory. Every living soul in Valhalla seemed to gather in the throne hall to sing, and dance, and eat, and drink in joy. Odin sat at his high seat, giving toasts to all the hundreds of great warriors who had died again on the battlefield. The bards had already composed new melodies commemorating the most important moments, and everyone with a sword finally had a proper new story to tell their comrades. It all resulted in the loudest party in Valhall in living (dead) memory.

Almost overshadowing the news of the battle itself was the arrival of the Valkyries. As Skurge had predicted, all old grudges were long forgotten and the rest of the Aesir were all just as starstruck as he had been upon seeing the Ladies of Battle in the flesh. Skurge silently wondered, from the corner in which he had hidden himself, whether it would be possible to get Odin to erase all memory of him the same way he had erased all memory of Hela. Just get everyone to forget about how badly he had screwed up so that he could start over. 

Because of course Loki had been right - the self absorbed prick probably always was - and no-body, not a single soul, cared about him defeating Fenris. Or him defeating the goat carrying Gjallarhorn. Or him blowing said horn and calling the Valkyries. Or even him still having Sumarbrand strapped to his back. They all either didn’t believe him, wouldn’t listen, or just plain didn’t care. Skurge was not bitter. He was a realist.

It was time to leave Valhalla. If it was not for a certain tiny bilgesnipe, he would have already grabbed his things and left. There was no real point being here. All he did every day was avoid everyone else. But he didn’t know if they had suitable food for bilgesnipe calfs in Hel. In fact, he wasn’t sure if they had food in Hel at all. He would have to wait until the calf was big enough to move back out into the forest, because there was no way he was going to endanger it by bringing it into enemy territory. The little guy was his responsibility.

“Leaving so soon, Skurge Friend of Loki?” one of the Valkyrie Captain’s two dark haired lieutenants came strolling down between two of the large banquet tables to intersect him as he was exiting the hall.

“I know where I’m not wanted.” he told her, a lot more bitterly then he had intended. It was hardly _her_ fault. No. This entire mess was completely and entirely _his own_ Bor damned fault. There were no Norns to blame - because Loki was always right - and everything bad that Skurge had ever done was on his own head. And he was also _maybe_ a tinsy, tiny bit drunk.

“Yes, I heard about that,” the dark Valkyrie told him. She was older than her blond commander, lines of years lived beginning to form in her ebony skin, made even more visible when she smiled. She was beautiful. “It is an interesting story, yours. I’d love to hear it in full - from the source. Some day,” she looked at his swaying stance, hazel eyes filled with mirth. “But perhaps not today. Would you come visit us sometime, up at our hall?”

“I don’t think your Captain would approve.” Skurge managed to tell her, terribly confused by the whole situation. Was she mocking him? Was the room really spinning?

“Capn’s bitter because she’s spent the past couple millenia missing her girlfriend. She’ll come around. We all fought with Hela once. There is no shame in this. Your other deeds speak louder of your character.” the Valkyrie Lieutenant told him with a friendly punch to the shoulder and then added in a conspiratorial whisper; “Plus, it’s been ages since we had a male up at the hall. I like girls as much as the next Aesir, but sometimes you want to mix it up!”

“I would be honored.” was all Skurge managed to get out. The Valkyrie seemed happy enough with that answer, because she sent him a wink before walking back to her comrades. He stared at them for a while longer before deciding it was getting weird and continuing his wobbled attempt to leave the hall.

\---

When the former Executioner finally reached his chambers the doors were already open. This made him pause for a moment, but he figured he must probably have forgotten them open when he’d left to warn Frigga of the coming invasion. Continuing into his living room and beginning to pull of his armor, there was a thought pushing at the edge of his fizzy consciousness. Something rather urgent pressed to get in as he released the straps to his shoulder guards and pulled of his chestplate. His boots came next, and Skurge had managed the somewhat acrobatic achievement of drunkenly removing his entire armor before the thought broke through. _If the door have been open this whole time, where in the little bilgesnipe?_

Panic. 

Raw panic filled the Aesir’s chest as he spun around, running as fast as he could in his intoxicated state through his rooms calling for his little ward. The tiny calf didn’t even know his name yet. Skurge hadn’t named him, and now he had lost him. The bilgesnipe was not in his rooms.

The bulky, drunk Aesir ran down the corridor in the grey leathers he wore under his armor. Where could the tiny animal even have gone? What if it had run into another Aesir? Had they been serving bilgesnipe at the feast? Skurge suddenly felt sick.

He ran past one of the big abandoned gardens adjoined to his wing and saw a familiar figure through the corner of his eye. She might be able to help. With magic.

“All-Mother!” he blurted out as he fell more than stepped onto the grass. The Queen turned around, and in her arms was the tiny bilgesnipe, sleeping. She had found him! _Because this was where you left him._ A dry, slightly less intoxicated part of his brain informed him. Skurge felt very, very stupid, but was, in that moment, far to happy and relieved to care.

“What is it, my friend?” the Queen looked so, very worried, and Skurge felt even more very stupid.

“Nothing, I was just- surprised. To see you here. I mean.” and he was back to stuttering at her, great. The mother of the God of Lies lifted an eyebrow that said she certainly knew _that_ was not the truth, but let the matter slide.

“I came to see you, and your little friend, once I noticed you had left the feast.”

“Yeah. I didn’t really feel like- I mean - I was tired and-” he wanted very much to not accidentally snap at her the way he had done at the Valkyrie, but he also couldn’t think of a single good excuse to leave the feast early.

“I find these celebrations tedious myself.” Frigga informed him and saved him from further rambling. “I find I was only able to endure then in recent years thanks to my youngest son’s endless amusements and mischiefs, and now, without them, everything feels terribly stale. Although, perhaps I should not have encouraged him so. Perhaps those tricks and pranks were the first steps on the road to his fall, alienating him from the stoic Aesir?”

“Uhm-” Skurge began, hoping to save the Queen from the sinkhole of memories she had no doubt stumbled into again. “Did you want something? I’m afraid I don’t know where Loki went after the battle so-”

“Oh. Yes.” Frigga quickly recovered and cut him of again. “But not news of my foolish little boy. I had news for you. Of that sword on your back. I spoke, at length, with my husband, and he has agreed that, since you proved to be a worthy wielder, it should be yours.”

There were no words. Frigga seemed to understand, as she quietly walked over to him and place a light hand on his shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze, before placing the little bilgesnipe in his arms. It was sleeping soundly, dark red scales moving slowly up and down on its little chest.

“Have you named him yet?” there was no demand in the question, just curiosity, but Skurge still felt proud that he had in fact managed to do just that already.

“ _Lycka_ ,” he told her, and she smiled.

“Perfect.” eyes twinkling. “Good night, then, Skurge and Lycka.“

After Frigga left, the former Executioner slowly walked back to his chambers. Sword still strapped to his back, bilgesnipe still cradled in his arms. Praying to Norns that maybe didn’t exist that this would not all be a dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Skurge’s side-quest finished! Hope that was at least a little bit fun to read! Next time we’ll be back to the actual story and see what Hela and Loki’s next move in the war with Valhalla will be! Probably Loki’s perspective, so look forward to that!
> 
> In the meantime - if you didn’t notice, Sumarbrand is red to match the bilgesnipe’s scales. Because it just adds another layer of awesome to that image of Skurge riding him into battle! Also. If anyone was curious _Lycka_ means both “happiness” and “luck”, and is completely unpronounceable to native english-speakers. Haaave fun with that!


	5. Vidar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valhalla's forces are coming. And neither Loki nor his big sister is about to let them take so much as an inch of Hel. As Odin's army approaches, the Trickster god will lie and kill to keep Hela on her throne. Both things he is very good at. Only question is - to what end?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 100 kudos! What?!? I mean. I know that’s not terribly impressive in the great scheme of things. But ya’ll. I only just started this and 100 actual people pressed the little button with a _heart_ on it. Let me have my moment.
> 
> Other things. @MagicalGirlHell still owns this story. No-one has commented to point out that it makes no sense that I am using the singular of Disir but not of Aesir (it’s because that singular is As btw) - and I am horribly disappointed. I also have 100 kudos. Oh. Wait. 
> 
> As a courtesy, I thought I might inform everyone that in my amazingly well-organized files, this chapter is saved as “Valhalla strikes back”. Just a heads up. Second heads up; there is a tiny, tiny reference to events in Infinity War in this - blink and you’ll miss it. Seriously. I don’t think even people who’ve seen it will know what I’m talking about - so still no real spoilers!
> 
> The telling begins anew!

The sun was rising over Hel. Brilliant shades of red spreading across the clouds and mists all around the horizon even before the shining orb ever came into view. It was larger than the sun of Midgard or even Asgard, or perhaps simply closer, and as it rose, the fog that always covered the Underworld in eerie darkness began to disburse. Shadows grew darker in the light, and the first waves of oppressing heat began to make themselves known as daybreak broke in the desert.

Loki, God of Lies, stood at the peak of the mountain that held the Throne of Hel and watched the light change the landscape of his new home, when his older sister joined him.

“The sun is rising.” he informed her helpfully. She snorted.

“I can see that.” the Goddess of Death was not much for pleasantries. “The question is - why?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” the youngest prince’s smile widened when his sister’s hands twitched. She hadn’t killed him in ages - or at least perhaps a fortnight - but he was pleased to see he could still get her to _want_ to. “It’s a metaphor. The sun rising over Hel. Light shining on the darkness. Good arriving to chase away evil.”

“Valhalla is coming.” the God of Lies didn’t bother to even nod at her, the Queen of Hel was smart enough to know that she was right, all on her own. The Queen herself seemed to think on this new revelation for a moment, and then a wide, bloodthirsty smile spread across her face to match the one on her brother’s. “Be a dear and go fetch the Captain, will you?”

The fallen prince gave her an elegant bow, only half mocking, and went to find the redheaded Dis.

\---

The light changed many things in the landscape of Hel, but nothing about the pit of the Disir. The hole in which the fallen warriors resided was deep enough that, even at its zenith, the sun was unlikely to reach the bottom, and now, as the golden orb had still barely crested the horizon, the pit was filled to its rugged, black stone brim with darkness. Loki did not hesitate before walking over the edge and letting himself fall toward the bottom. Time was of the essence after all.

He landed in velvet black nothing, his eyes adjusting almost immediately. The God of Lies suspected that bit had something to do with the _Frost Giant_ -thing, but he’d never bothered to look into it. Now, as the Disir stepped swiftly toward him, alarm in their eyes, swords drawn in their hands, he decided to simply be grateful.

“Loki Liesmith,” their leader greeted him, red hair gray in the darkness, suspicion in her voice. “What brings one such as yourself here?”

“First, that’s hurtful. You do know that we’re on the same side, right?” the god raised his hands in a gesture of surrender when the Disir surged forward, ready to defend their leader from some perceived insult. Honestly. If Loki was insulting them, they’d know. “Secondly. The All-Father is marching for Hel, and our Queen has called her council.”

The Dis in front of him continued to eye him with suspicion for a moment, before seemingly deciding he was telling the truth and gesturing for her soldiers to lower their weapons. She made a few further commands and then motioned for him to follow her out of the pit. The God of Lies could had brought them back to the palace in an instant, no walking required, but he suspected she would not be overly enthusiastic at the prospect of him using magic on her. It was the Idiots Three all over again. Why did all his siblings have such useless friends?

“So do all you Valkyries just not use people-names?” he asked the Captain when the silence became too boring. 

“I am not a Valkyrie.” the Dis told him, voice empty. The sudden sunlight made her hair shine the way it had on the battlefield in Valhalla and caused haunting dark shadows all across her gaunt face. She might have been beautiful once, the fallen prince mused, it was impossible to tell. Years and years in Hel had stripped all those features away. Now she looked only fierce, an image of strength, and danger.

“No, you’re not. Sis told me they took that away when you refused to betray her, before they executed you.” Hela had told her brother nothing - he had been eavesdropping - but there was no point informing the Captain of that now, was there?

“What do you want, Liesmith?” empty to hostile in so few syllables, Loki wondered how she managed. 

“Nothing much,” he smiled his most poisonous smile. “I’d like to know _why_. Why you stood with her then, why you are fighting with her now. What is your loyalty to Hela? Duty? Memory? Friendship? _Love?_ ”

Was it obvious that he knew the answer? Perhaps. But the Dis had dodged all his attempts at subtlety, and he was growing tired of this conversation. She was grating at him. A stone in his shoe. Stitches on his lips. She was reminding him of three dead idiots.

“Yes, Trickster. Love.” the redheaded warrior had stopped in her tracks, and when the prince turned she held his gaze, eyes demanding he do the same. “I died for Hela, and I would do it again. And again. Forever.”

“But she never returned your affections.” the God of Lies hadn’t been sure, but now he could see the truth written in every line of her face. “That didn’t hurt?”

“Unrequited love isn’t as bad as they say. Hela always respected me, and my feelings, even though she would never return them.” the Dis had still not looked away once. Her eyes were burrowing into Loki’s, and, unable to step down from a challenge, the god could see every ounce of truth in them.

“So it didn’t hurt? Ever? Not even when she took other lovers?” this was the key. The Captain of Hel’s Disir believed herself eternally loyal, and Hela believed her, but Loki had seen what love could do, and it was rather terrifying. Hel, he had _made_ love do terrifying things. And he would take no chances. The look on the former Valkyries face was, however, not any of those he had anticipated. She looked away now. Threw her head back laughing.

“Seems you don’t know your sister as well as you think, Trickster.” she managed to get out between huffed breaths, eyes happily mocking. “Hela has never taken a lover. She has never touched another, male nor female, in so much as a kiss. It was a big point of contention between her and the All-Father before her banishment. Hard to marry someone if you refuse even the most basic of courtship.”

For once, the God of Lies could think of nothing to say. How had he missed that? How had he missed something so fundamental about somebody he spent most every waking moment with? What _else_ had he missed? The redheaded warrior beside him cut of his racing thoughts with a sudden pat on his shoulder. Loki was a hair's breadth away from stabbing her in the gut.

“Well,” the Captain said, pushing the knife aside with a finger, still laughing softly. “I’m glad to learn that you at least care enough about this alliance to examine the loyalty of its members. Here I was thinking this was all just some elaborate game to you.”

The fallen prince stared after the Dis as she once again began to walk away across the grey sands. A few meters away, she turned around and looked at him quizzically. “Are you coming?”

\---

Hela had elected to hold her war councils in the large round cave closest adjoined to the library, the one she herself referred to as her ‘strategy room’. Aside from a truly staggering number of maps and charts, not just of Hel, but of all the other realms as well, the main feature of the room was a round table, big enough to seat twelve individuals. Currently, it held only four.

The Queen of the Dead sat comfortably leaned back on the tallest chair at the table facing the main doors. Surrounding her were three grey warriors of Hel, yet the Queens eyes were on none of them. The three generals were not much more than glorified messagers, here only to be informed of what their units of Hela’s armies would do in the coming battle. The two sitting to her left were nothing more then shells, their souls and wills torn asunder long ago by the endlessness of Hel, obeying nothing but the throne. The warrior on the Queen’s right still had some semblance of his living personality left, but he was also the leader of the Berserkers, and as such, not entirely coherent to begin with.

When Loki and his redheaded companion reached the table and took their seats opposite the Queen, the new angle allowed the fallen prince to see what the green clad Aesir was occupying her time with rather than conversing with her unresponsive generals.

“I am flattered that the Queen would spend her time reading one of my creations.” the God of Lies told his older sister.

“Don’t be,” the Queen answered and offhandedly threw _The heroic return of Loki of Asgard_ over her shoulder. “It’s terrible, but it is also the only book in this entire realm that I have not already read before.”

“Ouch,” the prince said lightly, smile playing across his lips. He stored the bit about all the books in Hel being ones she had already read away for later examination. The Queen was always very tight lipped about how this realm of hers seemed to cater to her every whim, so her brother had to take what information he could get. He’d never seen a riddle he couldn’t solve, but this was shaping up to be a tough one. 

“Once the two of you have finished with your sibling-rivalry banter, _your Majesties_ , I’d like to know why I am here.” the Captain of the Disir broke up the staring contest that Hela had just initiated with a light tap on the table with the tip of one of her silver daggers. The dagger somehow stuck in the dark stone of the surface. If Loki hadn’t been on the fun end of scrapper 142’s blades more than once, he might have even been shocked.

“Of course, Red,” the Queen relented almost immediately - probably trying to behave like the responsible older sibling - and turned to her Captain. “Valhalla is marching for Hel. We, as you know, already have a number of strategies in place for this eventuality, but we need to brush up on the specifics and get the word out to all our forces.”

“The puny might of Valhalla stands no chance against my Berserkers, Queen!” the burly oaf to the Queen’s right declared, actually rising from the table and lifting his sword in the air. The dead Aesir was clad in heavy dwarven armor, skulls adorning his shoulders and a great horned helmet covering much of his face. He must have died a long time ago, long before the gold of Asgard. Loki wondered again what had kept him sane in the desert. The Disir had each other - what did this brute have? “We shall slaughter the All-Fathers armies and let you bathe in their blood, your Majesty! They will tremble in fear before Ulf the Wolfslayer!”

“Yes, that’s brilliant, general.” the Goddess of Death told her soldier, not even trying to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. I was not as though he could understand it anyway. Sending her brother a look of utter exasperation, to which he responded with an understanding eye roll, she continued. “Your Berserkers will take the center, flanked by the other footsoldiers. We will hold back the cavalry until after the Disir have joined the battle, using the, I must say, amazing distraction they provide to ride in and surround the enemy on two flanks.”

The Goddess of Death continued laying out her plan for the coming battle in a tone that pendled between professional and childishly enthusiastic. The Captain of the Valkyries came with some useful inputs, and Ulf the Wolfslayer with some that were slightly less so, while Loki and the other two generals kept quiet. The generals because they truly had nothing to add, and Loki because he did not care to. This was Hela’s game, and he would let her play it, much like he played his own.

At long last the council ended. The fallen prince did not terribly mind his sister’s strategy meetings. After the endless bore of Asgards Royal Council - first being forced to attend in his youth, and then accidentally forcing himself into them by usurping Odin’s throne - these meetings were nothing but an improvement. The only two Aesir there with a full set of brain cells knowing him, not as Odin, or as the god's well-behaved youngest son, but as at least part of who he was, helped a lot. This day, however, Loki had other plans, and he’d like to enact them before a foreign army came knocking on their door.

The God of Lies remained in the council room as the others left it, walking over to the far corner to pick up his book and making a show of very slowly dusting it off. The Goddess of Death was caught in a conversation with the redheaded Dis, but the warrior soon strode out to get her sisters ready for battle, and Loki was at long last left alone with his sister.

“Did you want something?” the Queen of Hel gestured - unimpressed - to where he was still pretending to clean up his book.

“I did, actually.” the prince told her, whisking the book away to his space-between-spaces with a thought. “Having your own plan for battle is great. But knowing your enemy’s? When they will strike, how-”

“Your babbling again, little brother.” she had half turned away from him, eyes pulling down from him to look at some parchment on the table. The God of Lies was halfway to some biting comeback, but had to admit to himself that he was in fact making this unnecessarily complicated. Weaving his plan into abstract ideas to make it seem like his sibling was the one who had come up with it all on their own wasn’t needed with Hela. It wasn’t even really needed with Thor anymore.

“I might have a spy in Valhalla.” 

“ _Might have_?” raised eyebrows, bemused smile.

“Depends on how much I can trick him into revealing.” a shrug and a smile of his own.

“I thought you sounded like dad, but the more I think about it - and I’ve put some serious thought into this - the more it seems your pretending to be him, while really being _her_ , all the way out to your fingertips.” The Goddess of Death sounded like she was announcing some great discovery, all haughty surety. So of course Loki had to tilt his head to the side an look like the biggest question mark he could manage. The Queen sighed in annoyance. “Mother would always leave on the eve of battle - to find some new enchanted weapon or pour poison in the enemies’ evening meal. Frigga hated the wars - she was the first to support Dad when he decided to go for his whole _benevolent king_ -plan - and she spent the longest time finding ways to make the fight go quicker. She would always stand with him though. Daddy-dearest would have died long ago if he hadn’t had his trusty shieldmaiden between himself and his foes.”

With that, the Queen of Hel turned on her heel and left, leaving her brother stranded in the strategy room. Loki stared after her, of half a mind to call her back and have her clarify what she had just said. If only to hear her say it again. She wanted him at her side. She was quite alright with him doing whatever he wanted, but only so long as he made it back in time for the fighting. She wanted him at her side.

\---

This was the plan. Get Hela to like him, get Hela to trust him and then - and then what? This was where the plan ended. The God of Lies turned it over and over in his mind as he walked. This was what he wanted, what he had planned. The question was, as ever, _why_? Because it was what he wanted - wasn’t that reason enough? Not really, no. Not when he himself was the one asking.

“ _I could tell you, but if I do, you won’t listen._ ” Garm was sitting up on her hind legs, and Loki marveled once again at how ridiculously big the wolf was. As he looked up at where she towered before the Gate to Valhalla, fur turned impossibly darker by the sunlight, yet almost glittering with it, he was for a moment at a loss of words. He remembered his first question to her, _What are you?_

The Gatekeeper misunderstood his silence for something else. “ _I did not mean to pry, God of Riddles, but for once you were wearing your thoughts on your sleeves._ ”

“ _I suppose I was._ ” the fallen prince shrugged, making it clear through the mind-bond that he had taken no offence. He had realized long ago that he did not mind Garm knowing his secrets. “ _This is unfortunately the second time I return to you without an answer to your question, Garm Unslain, and so I hardly deserve an answer to mine._ ”

“ _It matters little, Thrice Mourned._ ” the wolf bent down to look the little god in the eye, nose so close he could feel her breathing on his skin. Something cold feathered at the edge of his mind when she continued, but he couldn’t tell who it had come from. “ _You are here on your sister’s behalf again._ ”

“ _I am afraid so,_ ” he told her honestly. Always honesty with Garm. Perhaps he ought to try to lie to her sometime, is only to finally get her to call him out on what he really was. “ _If an army came here from Valhalla, could you, Keeper of the Gate, do anything to stop them?_ ”

“ _An army_ is _coming, as you well know._ ” Garm lifted her head again, looking away at something beyond the Gate, and Loki found himself wondering if she could _see_ the way Heimdal could. “ _I could stop them, but that’s not what Hela wants, is it_?”

“ _No. The Goddess of Death would rather die than let another fight her battle_.” a silence stretched between them. Through the bond he felt the great wolf’s intent. If the God of Lies asked it of her, none would ever pass through the Gate again, worthy or not. 

Loki didn’t know what made the wolf care about him at all. To her, he must seem as much of an ant as the mortals of Midgard had to him. He should lie to her now, show her his true colors. Instead, the fallen prince fell into that formal bow of their first meeting, again returned in a light nod from the wolf, and stepped onto Yggdrasil’s branches. 

\---

Finding Skurge was slightly harder than Loki had anticipated, only because the bald Aesir was not, as would be expected, in Valhall. When the fallen prince expanded his search to all of Valhalla - more energy consuming, but not terribly complicated - he soon found the warrior’s signature high in the northern mountains. This confused him for a moment before he remembered what else was allegedly up there. Only question was, why in the Nine had the Valkyrie allowed Hela’s former Executioner into their keep?

Taking a page from his brother’s book, Loki figured the most effective way to get an answer to that was to walk straight into the question. And so he did.

The keep of the Valkyries was not built in any rock, Ur or otherwise, but instead crafted almost exclusively in wood. This did not, however, make it any less formidable. The wood used was the sturdiest of oak. Trunks thick enough that Loki could not have reached around them with his arms made up the outer palisade, dug down deep in the earth and reaching for the sky in a parody of their living state. The inner buildings and walls were made from trunks slightly thinner, forming together into long feast halls and barracks. Stationed at the edge of a cliff on the mountainside, with two inner walls, and a moat between them and the outermost one, there was no taking this fortress with anything less than a couple of firebreathing dragons. And that was before one added two hundred Valkyries to the mix.

Inside the walls a frenzy of activity meet the invisibility covered God of Mischief. The Valkyries were making ready to fly to battle, and organized chaos filled every corner of the keep as they gathered their weapons and winged horses. Loki could stay here and watch them prepare, counting weapons, looking for weakness, but that was really not his style. Scouts assessed their enemy from a distance - the second prince of Asgard walked in and talked to them.

Skurge was, thankfully, alone. Loki followed the signature he had detected and found the bulky Aesir in one of the smaller stables, in the middle of attempting to break up what seemed to be a duel of wills between the tiny bilgesnipe he had seen on his visit to the warrior’s chambers, and a very angry pegasus. The two animals stood on opposite sides of the stable, staring each other down with murder in their eyes, both pointedly ignoring Skurge’s frantically waving arms and soothing words.

“This looks like fun.” when the God of Lies dropped his invisibility both animals jumped in surprise. Seeming, wisely, to decide the fallen prince was the bigger threat, both animals turned their murderous gazes on him. Their bald owner himself, however, didn’t seem terribly surprised by the sudden appearance of a member of Asgard’s royalty in the middle of his little domestic dispute. 

“What do you want this time?” the heavily armored Aesir asked with a sigh that sounded pretty close to amused. “Would you please make it quick? I really don’t need the Valkyries seeing me with you. The Captain is still super suspicious. I should probably alert them to your presence. Spying on -”

Whatever nonsense the bald warrior was about to sprout cut of as Loki stepped forward until he stood so close that their chest almost brushed. The prince leaned in even further, close enough to whisper in the Aesir’s ear.

“I can’t kill you. But I can take you with me into the depths of this mountain, into the caves and endless tunnels filling its roots. And then I can leave you there, alone, with no way out, and no way to die. Forever.” the God of Lies plastered his most cruel smile across his face, surprising himself with the violence of his words. He needed Skurge to speak to him freely, not to threaten him. The anger had come from someplace outside of his tactical mind, and he quickly buried it again. _Emotions._

The bald warrior in front of him had gone suitably pale. Loki was in the middle of an attempt to figure out how to take this conversation in the direction he had actually planned when he felt something colliding with his left leg. He looked down to find the tiny bilgesnipe calf wobbling away, legs almost buckling under it as it tried to shake of the dizziness caused by the impact.

The God of Lies was about to comment on the little animal’s strange behavior, when Skurge suddenly dove to the ground, scooped the bilgesnipe up in his arms and rolled away on the hay covered floor. The bald Aesir stopped on his knees couple of meters away from the Trickster god, holding the animal in his arms protectively. His expression had landed somewhere between a hostile scowl at Loki and a proud smile for his tiny, red ward.

“If you wanted me to give your mom another message, I’m not at all sorry to say that the Queen is several miles from here and that I will probably not be able to reach her until well after the battle.” the heavily armored warrior muttered while trying to check the now squirming bilgesnipe for injuries.

“Is your pet alright?” the God of Lies pulled a pair of emotions onto his face - guilt, and a reluctance to show that guilt. No need to be too obvious.

“He seems fine.” the Aesir in front of him answered just as the tiny bilgesnipe managed to wrestle free of his grip and jumped down to the floor with a frown that could only be described as _indignant_. Loki couldn’t stop the genuine smile that tugged at his lips.

“How come you have him?” the best lies were truths. Real curiosity, plus hidden agenda.

“Found him. His mother was dead, and he’s too small to make it on his own.” Skurge first sounded rather proud, but when he finished talking, he cast Loki a funny glance and twisted uncomfortably. Before the prince could figure out what _that_ was about, the Aesir made a very obvious subject change. “Named him Lycka. Though after three weeks in his _charming_ company, I’m starting to think that was possibly a mistake.”

“And Lycka is not fond of big, winged horses?” with impeccable timing, Lycka chose that precise moment to stop glaring at Loki and instead return his threatening stare to the horse.

“It’s not _all_ winged horses. Just this one. I think he’s jealous because I’m going to be hanging out with a different animal. But I’m just going to be riding her! You are overreacting!” the last sentences were directed at the tiny bilgesnipe, who had utilized Skurge’s temporary distraction to begin a charge at the white horse behind Loki.

“I thought only women could be Valkyries?” a simple shielding spell stopped Lycka in his tracks before he could hurt himself or annoy the pegasus further.

“I’m not going to be a Valkyrie, I’m just going to ride with them to the battle.” the bald warrior cast Loki a grateful glance and then picked the little bilgesnipe back up. Lycka immediately began squirming again.

“How did that come about?”

“It really is too far to walk back to Valhall from here on such short notice, and even if I did, it’s not like I have a position in the army anymore anyway.” Skurge threw out his chest in a little gesture of pride as he added. “And the Valkyrie like me, so they invited me.”

“Been here long then?” such an innocent little question.

“About a week. It’s a big improvement over Valhall though, so I was not in a hurry to leave. Then some idiot decided to announce we would be crossing the Gate to Hel at noon today _yesterday evening_ , making it effectively impossible for me to get back in time. I mean, what did they think, that somebody was going to run over to the Underworld and warn -” the bulky Aesir stopped his rant just a few words to late. He dropped a happy Lycka back onto the floor and threw Loki a betrayed look. “And that’s exactly what you wanted to know, isn’t it? When we’d come?”

“I don’t know what I want.” the God of Lies said, cold, disinterested expression meeting the Aesir’s hurt one. _So much like Thor._ “But having more than an ominous sunrise to go by is certainly not going to hurt.”

Loki turned on his heels, preparing to step into nothing and leave Valhalla behind.

“I thought you said you would only ‘sort of’ betray Valhalla.” the former Executioner had drawn his sword and was pointing it squarely at the fallen prince’s back.

“Didn’t we already establish that I can’t be killed?” despite his words, the God of Lies had raised his hands tentatively. He couldn’t be killed, but he could be severely inconvenienced - and it seemed that Skurge had also realized this.

“I can’t kill you _permanently_ , but I can keep you down for long enough to not be able to run back and help your crazy sister.” Loki felt blood trickling down his spine from where the sword was shallowly cutting into his neck.

“Oh, no. You can’t.” an illusion said from behind Skurge as the real trickster in front of him turned invisible. _Fall for it. Please?_

The bald Aesir spunn around instantly, sword now aimed at nothing but air and magic. “Loki. Hela is insane. She needs to be stopped before she tears this realm apart. Literally and figuratively. She’s -”

The God of Lies let the illusion of his form fade into nothingness and watched with a disgusted sort of satisfaction as the bald Aesir that reminded him far to much of Thor lowered his sword and sighed a defeated sigh. Loki thought he should probably come up with some witty final insult, but he really didn’t feel like it, so he simply turned around and stepped away from Valhalla.

\---

“Sister!” Loki stepped back into reality in Hela’s dressing room. The goddess stood before a large mirror, studying her image in it, surveying her new armor for flaws. It looked much like the old one. Slightly different pattern, a few added reinforcements over her shoulders. Watching his own reflection behind hers in the mirror, the God of Lies was struck again by just how alike the looked.

“Oh, do walk into a lady’s changing room. I’m sure that will never land you in trouble.” she sounded more amused than irritated, and Loki _had_ magically checked that she was dressed before he burst in, so he simply continued on what he was planning to say.

“They will pass through the Gate at noon.” 

“Then we will be ready for them.” the Queen, seemingly happy with her new battle garments, crossed the room to rummage through one of the open cabinets. “Are you going to keep wearing that?”

Her question took him of guard, and he found himself self-consciously assessing his own image in the mirror. His outfit was all green and black leather with gold accents, cuts that had passed for casual wear in Asgard, yet still stood out. A street parlor’s trick, divert and distract, yet dark enough to melt into the darkness. “What’s wrong with it? You’re not still mad about the color-thing, are you?”

“I don’t know, little brother. Do you realize there is no armor on it?” Hela found the long green cloak she had apparently been looking for and held it up to her shoulders in the mirror. It was the same color as the on she had worn at Ragnarok, but it was parted in seven long stripes rather than the single piece of fabric that that cape had been.

“I am flattered by your concern for my well being, but it’s far too hot outside for armor. Will it ease your mind to learn that I was in fact planning to enchant all the leather in this before any fighting starts?” the fallen prince was about to add something cute about how _she_ was now the one who sounded like Frigga, but he figured that would not go over well. And he had done enough fighting with people he sort-of-liked today.

“Not entirely, but I suppose it will have to do.” satisfied with the cape, Hela clasped it to her shoulders and turned to face her brother. “Now. You said there was an army coming?” 

\---

Hel’s forces stood ready before the Gate. In a parody - or perhaps mirror - of their own assault on Valhalla, the warriors of Hel waited in silence as the invaders exited the great ravine in the mountains and took up formation on the sands beyond. The land on which the battle would be fought lacked any advantage for either side, but so did almost every part of Hel. Endless, never-changing desert didn’t make for a particularly exciting battlefield.

“Right on time, little brother.” on a slightly higher sand dune behind her army the Goddess of Death surveyed the battlefield from the back of one of Hel’s small, grey dragons. Her brother stood on the sand to her left in the shadow beneath the wing of her dragon, silently hating whoever had invented heat.

The force of the sun’s rays at this midday hour was intense. The sand under their feet was scolding hot, and in the distance the air itself rippled and tore as if it too wished for nothing more than to leave the wretched desert. The Queen had enthusiastically declared this was the Underworld’s natural defense, its attempt to burn away the invaders. Loki very much doubted this. He hated the sun with a passion. Muspelheim had been his least favourite of the Nine Realms for a reason. That was, until Jotunheim took that spot indefinitely - but that had nothing to do with temperature. 

Shaking away all such thoughts, the fallen prince lifted his head to study the field before him. He strained to see in the heat, watching the last of their enemies take up their positions. Something was very _wrong_ with those positions. Something missing? Maybe. The thoughts kept slipping in and out of the trickster’s grasp. This was _not_ worth stupid night vision. 

Finally, the two armies were both standing ready. Almost simultaneously the Goddess of Death and the general of Valhalla’s forces signaled forward march, and their soldier surged forward. Who the general was, Loki couldn’t see at this distance, but they looked rather a lot like Tyr. The feeling of wrongness increased. If the stories were to be believed, no-one in their right mind would put Tyr in charge of an army. Let him lead the first charge, sure. Let him command from a position of strategic importance, no thank you.

His mind was flailing. Somewhere, in some moderately cool part of his consciousness, Loki could tell it was, but the rest of his thoughts all just kept spinning in circles. He needed to figure this out before something bad happened.

The Valkyrie flew in over the desert from the south, their pitch black shadows following them across the sands. Raising her dark spear and letting out a traditional Aesir battle cry Hela took to the skies, followed closely by one hundred and thirty six Disir. The sound when they clashed with the Valkyries in the air above was deafening. Somewhere in the cloud of white wings and uniforms on the enemy side, Loki thought he glimpsed a distinctly non-Valkyrie shaped dark form, and he quickly looked away.

When the enemy command seemed suitably distracted, Loki gestured to the one of Hela’s three hapless generals who was in charge of the cavalry, and soon warriors on horses rode out from behind the dunes on either side of Valhalla’s forces. 

They were winning. And the feeling of wrongness was only growing. Aside from the Valkyrie, the army under Tyr’s command had made no attempt to do anything other than march slowly forward, even as the cavalry pushed through their ranks from both left and right. The soldiers from Valhalla died bravely, clouds of golden mist rising from the field by the dozen, but not strategically. Not even a little bit. It was as though they weren’t really trying.

Loki realized what was about to happen about three seconds before it did, allowing him time to turn invisible once again and leave an illusion in his place for the soldiers behind him to strike down. All across the field of battle, Hel’s warriors were suddenly either surrendering or cutting down their comrades for not doing so. Soon, not a single soldier on the ground was fighting Valhalla’s forces. Instead, the army of dishonorable dead had turned on itself. 

Two of Hela’s three generals had turned, commanding their soldiers to follow the new directives. Ulf the Wolfslayer was still fighting on their side, but he was surrounded, his own Berserkers piling up all around him as he cut them down in a brave but futile attempt to win a losing battle. In the air, the Disir still followed Hela, but, having realized what was happening on the ground, they were suddenly torn between fighting the Valkyrie _and_ attempting to aid what still remained of the cavalry. Not good odds for an already outnumbered force.

Loki reached out for Hela’s mind in the way he knew she hated, but he simply didn’t have any other choice then to use as the chaos of battle prevented all other communication. Three words, then he’d leave her thoughts alone. “ _I’ll find him._ ”

\---

There was not much search involved in finding Odin. The god's second son had known where he was form the moment the feeling of wrongness solidified into realization.

Odin All-Father was sitting on the throne of Hel. He looked out of place in the dark seat. Golden weapon and armor clashing with the deep grey stone of the hall. White beard and thick frame ill-suited for the ancient, slender throne. It struck Loki once again just how perfectly this place was aligned to Hela. And now her father was trying to take it from her.

“Think I’ve already pointed out to you that cheating against your own children is rather low.” the God of Lies stepped of the branches of Yggdrasil into the shadow beneath the throne. The great alcove in the mountain was filled with damp air, blessedly cool against his skin. He did not get long to celebrate this, however, as the King of Valhalla soon pulled out of whatever spell he was using the throne to perform and focused down on him.

“This has to be done.” Odin said simply, coldly. Loki wanted to throw up. 

“Now I feel both nostalgic _and_ nauseous.” the fallen prince played it of like a joke, smiling with nothing but teeth. “I feel that way about lots of things, nowadays, but this most certainly takes the cake.”

“My son -” the King of the Gods began, but Loki didn’t let him finish.

“Are you going to tell me you wish I had died as a baby again?” there had been a point to this conversation, but the God of Lies was quickly forgetting it. Much more fun to throw insults at an ancient god. So much nostalgia. “Because I don’t have to be god of anything to know that that’s a lie.”

“I never said that!” Odin was getting riled up now, leaning forward on the throne, clasping his spear tightly, about to go on a long trigade defending his own actions. And that was what calmed Loki down. The golden throne room of memory faded. _You’ve moved past this._

“I want my sister.” the God of Lies cut his father of in the middle of a rant about ‘protecting the Realms’. _His father_ , because Thor was his brother, Frigga his mother and Hela his sister. And the old god had just been trying to ‘protect the Realms’.

“What?” was all Odin managed to get out after a long beat of silence.

“You can have the desert, and the throne, and the dead - but you can’t have Hela. I won’t let you lock her back up and throw away the key.” Loki looked up at the throne in cold defiance. He didn’t have a whole lot of leverage here. None, really, except the All-Fathers regret and guilt. Ah. That was the point of the insults. He knew there had to have been one.

“She’s not Thor.” the King of Valhalla spoke, quietly, kindly. Loki felt like he had been hit in the face. “You can’t replace him with her. You can’t make up for the times you’ve betrayed him by saving her. She is a monster. Bent on nothing but the destruction of all life. Goddess of Death.”

“It’s a good thing nobody here is alive then.” Ignoring the rest of his father’s words in an effort to keep smiling, Loki focused in on his uncomfortably short list of arguments, pushing everything else aside. _Is that why I want this?_

“That’s your defense?” Odin snorted, leaning back again in his seat. So high and mighty. So much like his daughter. “You’ll let her burn Valhalla to the ground and enslave all those who reside there, because we are all already dead? Your brother would never -”

“But he would. Don’t you remember?” calm and collected. Loki had this. He could win this. Thinking would have to wait until later. “Just a single decade ago, Thor would have gladly followed in his sister’s footsteps. Face it All-Father, you raised three monsters. One was taught compassion by mortals, the other two are dead and burned, but that doesn’t change the fact that by your hand we were all murderers.”

The King of the Gods sank back even further in the throne, looking old again, the way he had when his second son had found him in Hel. “Loki-”

Whatever the All-Father had been about to say was cut of by a second entry into the throne hall. Nine Berserkers matched in, each holding taunt a long chain. The chains glowed red with blood magic and connected together at different points of Hela’s body, holding the goddess shackled as she strode into her hall between them, head held high. 

Before anyone could do or say anything, Loki was on them. Two of the guards went down not even knowing what had killed them, a third as he was still drawing his sword. The rest were quite a bit more difficult. Number four went down with a knife in his throat, but five and six managed to pin the trickster down. A sword in his shoulder lost him mobility of his right arm, and holding back battle axes with one hand and a knife is harder than it looks.

Of course, Loki didn’t need to fight for much longer after that. Now held only by three Berserkers, the Goddess of Death tore through her bonds with little effort, drawing a pair of swords from the air and making quick work of the remaining five guards. Shaking of the remainder of her chains, Hela held out a hand to help her brother to his feet before turning towards Odin, and when the little prince took her hand, green magic engulfed her.

Sinking his magical tethers deep in his sister’s skin Loki pulled on reality and dragged her with him out of it. As they stepped onto Yggdrasil and away from Hel, the God of Lies cast a final glance back at his father on the throne. Odin looked more defeated than his son had ever seen him before. It should have made him happy, but all Loki felt was confusion as the darkness engulfed him.

\---

They stepped back into reality in one of the caverns covering the roots of the mountains between Hel and Valhalla. Damp, shilling air, hard, sharp rocks, and darkness. The fallen prince made green light flood the cave before he released his hold on his sister and let her stumble free.

“What is this, _brother_?” words of poison and bewilderment.

“Me saving you?” the God of Lies tried, knowing it wouldn’t work.

“Saving me?” the Goddess of Death asked, incredulous. “From what? Our fragile old man? Dead berserkers?”

“Odin sits on the Throne of Hel. Whatever power it once afforded you now falls to him. It is a battle you can’t hope to win!” another futile attempt to explain. Hela was never going to forgive him for this. “Norns, sometimes I think you really are related to Thor after all!”

“Bring me back.” the (former?) Queen of Hel pointed her blades at his throat. “Bring me back there, little brother, and I might yet forgive you.”

“Or else you’ll, what? Kill me? We’ve been over that one already.” he sighed and sat down against the slightly curved wall of the cave. “I’ll let us out of here when it’s safe.”

“That might be fine by you, _Loki Liesmith_. Running away, tail between your legs, hiding in illusions. It’s the first thing you did when we meet too. Calling down the Bifrost and fleeing back to Asgard. God of Lies and Mischief, petty, silly little things. But I’m the Goddess of Death, and I will not be kept in some cave by a jotun changeling!” Hela was ranting again. Babbling on about her own greatness like she hadn’t since before she stopped killing him. 

Defeated by Odin, cast away in darkness. Nostalgic and nauseous. Loki was not the only one with poisonous memories.

“I called down the Bifrost because my brother was about to charge at you with no weapon and get himself idiotically killed. I pulled you away from charging at Odin to keep you from getting yourself idiotically imprisoned.” he felt almost as idiotic himself, admitting the first part. _So convinced you could watch your brother die, yet here you stand._

“Really. You don’t want to see me imprisoned? And why is that, little brother?” she sounded as aloof as ever, chin lifted, smirk on her lips. But there was something burning behind her eyes, the crazed, desperate hope of a drowning woman. So Loki told the truth.

“Because you get me.” the fallen prince blurted out. “No-one _gets_ me. Ever. But you did. From the very start. Without even trying. Thor tries, and Frigga tries, but they never can. You get me. And I think I get you.”

Hela stared blankly at him. Emotions passing across her face so fast they became a blur. When the silence stretched out too thin, Loki continued. “We wait here until Odin leaves Hel - he can’t stay there forever - and then we take back your throne.”

“Strategic retreat.” Hela proclaimed, tossing her swords away across the cave and sitting down next to her brother. “How long do you think we’ll have to wait?”

“Hard to know.” he looked tentatively over at her, but she had gotten her emotions tightly back under wraps - just as he had. 

“We’ll have to pass the time then.” the Goddess of Death said, deliberately disinterested. “You have any other stories you’d like to share?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Much. Angst. By Bor’s huge beard. I said this was going to be lighthearted. Oh well. I tried. At least nobody got their hand chopped off. To lighten the mood back up, I thought I’d add a bit here that was actually part of the ending at some point at like 3 am and then got swiftly removed. You can decide for yourself if this conversation actually happened:
> 
> *  
> “When we get back, I’ll have to figure out a way to set up a cinema in the Keep.”
> 
> “Do I even want to know what that is?”
> 
> “The mortals use it to watch something they have ridiculously named ‘movies’.” he shrugged. “We need to watch one called _Lilo and Stitch_.”
> 
> “Why?”
> 
> “It’s about a blue shapeshifter and a black haired girl becoming friends.”
> 
> “Did you do _anything_ useful during your stint as Asgard’s impostor King?”
> 
> “No. No, I did not.”  
> *


	6. Franangsfors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hela and Loki have been… _temporarily_ defeated. To while away the time as they wait for their opportunity to strike back, the siblings tell each other ghost stories of their pasts. Spoilers: Loki has a hidden agenda (because doesn’t he always), but Hela figures it out almost immediately. She knows him too well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh. This chapter is a little, tinsy bit filler-y. It serves a purpose, never doubt that, and I know an episode doesn’t need a gigantic battle sequence to be meaningful! But I still inexplicably feel like I accidentally indulged that part of my brain that just wants to write nothing but shakespearean side-quests for all eternity. So. Sorry ‘bout that.
> 
> Also. Hela is asexual and aromantic in this. That was the point of Loki’s conversation with Red last chapter (and also for him to lose a conversation for once, but I digress), but it was pointed out to me in a helpful comment that it wasn’t as clear as I intended - so here it is in black and white. I gave a long explanation as to why I wanna write her as such in that comment that I don’t feel like repeating, so cliff notes version: mini-tottiki got the impression that she was while reading the Eddas, and no matter how many comics supposedly-adult-tottiki reads, she can’t shake that perception… Headcanon is Headcanon.
> 
> We’ll get to the story soon, promise (boy, I write long notes, don’t I?), I just need to gosh over how this story would never have happened without @MagicalGirlHell, and also point out that if you have questions or complaints about the fun butchering of the mythology I have performed here, they are extremely welcome in the comments!
> 
> And then, finally, it is telling-time!

_"_

_As dusk fell over the mountains, two wandering brothers came upon a small village. Tired after a long journey Thor, the eldest, strong and brave, suggested the two take lodging there to rest their tired feet. The younger brother, Loki, clever and quick, feeling something stirr in the air, suggested caution, but was hastily overruled by his brother’s loud complaints, and so the two set out for the collection of houses at the bottom of the valley._

_At the only inn of the place, the brother’s were given rooms, and served hot broth and much ale. After a time, the eldest brother became relaxed and merry, and wished to trade stories and songs with the villagers. He found, however, to his great chagrin, that the villagers, while perfectly polite and even friendly, had little interest in hearing his tales or charing their own. The younger brother was greatly intrigued by this, even as his older sibling lost interest, and began a game of drinking with the villagers in which each participant must either answer a question or empty their horn._

_Loki found no more answers than his brother had, but soon they were both far drunker than either of them had planned. Retiring to their rooms, both brothers quickly passed out on their beds. And woke up again, not much later, tied together in the dark just outside the village._

_“Once again, I get to not tell you that I told you so.” the youngest brother told his elder as he woke, struggling, hungover, against his bonds._

_“You did not know this would happen, and you can not take credit every time one of your endless complaints bear fruit.” Thor answered him gruffly._

_Now, if the two brothers had been ordinary mortal men, they would have been rather horribly in trouble. Fortunately for this telling, however, they were not. The brothers were in truth Aesir, Gods among the mortals of Midgard, and they could hardly be held by simple rope. Thor, the stronger of the two, pulled his bonds apart with less than a shrug, while Loki, the cleverer of the two, pulled out a hidden knife and cut his ropes to pieces._

_“Complain all you like brother, but it seems I have once again found us a mystery and and an adventure. If I allowed you to direct my every move, nothing fun would ever happen!” the elder brother proclaimed to the younger. The younger brother snorted and was about to give a biting retort when a loud crashing noise drew both the young gods’ attention away._

_It so happened that the particular village in which the brothers had chosen to spend their night was being held in terror by a terrible Jotun. This horrid creature had taken up residence in the mountains west on the settlement of mortals and came down the valley once every fortnight to collect a tribute in the form of a life. Terrified by the monster, and hateful to lose another of their own, the villagers had thanked the Norns on the arrival of the two brothers on just such a night of tribute._

_Thinking they had left an unconscious sacrifice for their tormentor to feast on, the villagers had fled back to their hovels, leaving the giant crashing down the hills through the trees to find the strangest surprise of his five millennia long life. And the last one._

_“What is this I find? Two little worms come to try and stop this one? Or to give themselves to it in turn of their fellows? Sorry, maggots, but this one was looking for a pretty maiden tonight.” the Frost Giant spoke, red eyes and blue skin visible even in the darkness, clan markings dark shadows on his skin._

_“We are here to do neither. We are the heirs of Asgard. Sons of Odin. I am Thor, God of Thunder, and my brother-” before he could finish his pompous introduction, the elder brother was cut off by the Jotun’s laughter._

_“Sons of Odin, you say, insect?” the Frost Giant said, after he had finished laughing a laugh loud enough to shake the nearby trees. “Have you forgotten so soon, or were you simply never told - for the shame of it?”_

_“Told what, monster? What great secret is it you believe you hold?” the elder of two young gods asked in indignation._

_“Ah. Never told. Let me tell you then, maggot princeling. Eons ago, before you or your little witch brother were born, this one imagines, the Hanged God’s firstborn came to this one’s lands, looking for glory. Needing a thing of its, Odin’s first spawn swore this one an oath in blood, that none of that blood would ever be able to harm it.” the rumbling laughter came back. “So you see, worm-prince, this is one battle you are doomed to lose, and this one finds it suddenly has an appetite for -”_

_This time, it was the Jotun’s turn to be cut off in the middle of his speech. Losing balance and gasping to fill lungs swimming in blood with air, the creature fell forwards, collapsing, dead, on the ground before the elder brother. Thor looked on, at once annoyed and amused, as the little brother standing by his side faded away like so much smoke, and another appeared, weilding a thin knife, behind the fresh corpse._

_“Brother! Must you ruin all my fun! This was shaping up to be a formidable battle!” the elder told the younger, kicking the dead creature’s body in anger._

_“I simply wished to assess the truthfulness of his words. I must have stabbed a bit too hard.” the younger answered, his face folded in false innocence._

_“T’was truly strange. Why speak such an obvious lie?” Thor’s great eyebrows drew together in a frown, an expression not oft seen on his face._

_“Delusion? Who knows what creatures such as these believe? Or perhaps it was an attempt to scare us into submission? You are Odin’s firstborn after all, and you would remember a vow such as that.” if bitterness crept into the younger brother’s voice at the last words, it was not noticed by the elder, as onlookers from the village now quickly gathered to congratulate the brothers on their victory._

_There was a great feast to honor the God who had saved the village. A statue of Thor was hastily erected, mead was drunk, songs sung and the dancing continued until long after dawn - on the seventh day. If any soul there remembered the attempted sacrifice, no word was spoken of it, and on the week after their arrival, the two brothers left the village, never to be seen again._

_"_  

“And, of course, that story makes miles more sense with full context.” Loki, God of Lies and Mischief, still sat leaned back against the wall of the cave where he had been for the past - well, it was hard to tell time in the endless darkness, but at least nine stories.

“It certainly must,” Hela, Goddess of Death, looked over at her little brother, smile playing across her lips. “Funny to think how far Tjasse had fallen. I did make that vow to him. He had taken Idunn, and I needed her back, so I swore I would not harm him - then I burned his castle and lands to aches and killed all his kin. You should have seen the look on his face!”

“Well, well, looks like lying does run in the family after all.” the Trickster shrugged, suppressing a smile of blood to match hers. “Perhaps storytelling does too?”

“You want _me_ to tell a story?” the exiled Queen of Hel laughed at the idea, only to lock eyes with her little brother’s most gildedly sincere expression, big, innocent, expectant eyes and a small mischievous smile. “Of what then?”

“Anything. Nothing. It doesn’t really matter.” the God of Lies lied. “Your first battle? Your oddest adventure? Your stupidest mistake? Your oldest memory? Your -”

“My oldest memory? That’s rather a bloody story, brother. I’m not sure if it is fit for sensitive ears such as yours.” the goddess tilted her head to the side, mirthless smile on her lips.

“Sounds intriguing.” was all he said, so Hela began her telling.

  _"_

 _There was once a cave on another realm, a bit like this one in fact. Ceiling so high it disappeared in the blackness, lit by the red light of flame rather then the green shine of magic and filled with more people than two. Not quite as deep in the mountain as this one, but close enough._

_Around the fire in the center of that cavern once sat five men of the Vanir people, each armed for battle and rugged by many years on the run. The Vanir were angry with one-another, and raised voices echoed of the walls of stone._

_“And what of Lady Frigga? Have you lost all regard for the First Lady of Vanaheim?” a dark Vanir in a long red cape questioned his fellows. He had the bearing of nobility, perhaps he was even the groups leader? Soon, no-one would ever be able to find out._

_“This isn’t Lady Frigga’s child. This is the bastard spawn of the Hanged God. For too long, Odin has ravaged our lands, insulting our ancestors, calling himself All-Father in a mockery of everything that came before! It is time that we take back what is ours, it is time that we -” another Vanir answered the first, long red hair falling into his face as he spoke. Before he could finish, however, he was rudely interrupted._

_“That we do what, Byggvir?” a third warrior exclaimed in anger, frustration blatant in every line of his pale face. “What is your plan here? Do you wish to ransom all of Vanaheim for this child? The Hanged God will not give up his conquests for some whore’s welp.”_

_“You do not know that!” the redhead proclaimed, desperation sneaking into his voice. “It might work! If you would only let me try -”_

_“Let you try? As we let you go of on your ‘secret mission’ to retrieve this child? No, friend, we will abide this fooly no longer.” the leader spoke again, to murmured agreement and nods from all the other Vanir, save the rebellious youth._

_“But what shall we do with her, master Skirnir?” the eldest of the group, clad in rags with his long grey beard unkempt, queried._

_“As much as it pains me, we can not let the child free. She has seen us, seen our secret places. If her father finds her, he will also find us.” the dark one called Skirnir answered, voice grave, head bowed. “Byggvir, who sealed her fate by bringing her here, shall be the one to cut her Norn-given thread.”_

_“You want me to kill her?” the young Vanir’s voice caught at that, but he soon recovered, proud face determined. “I shall enjoy ending one of Odin’s cursed blood.”_

_He rose from his position by the fire and walked over to a darker corner of the cave where he and his comrades had left the child, bound and gagged, to await her doom._

_The girl was small, barley past her first couple of centuries. Long dark hair fell over pale skin, beautifully adorned green dress ripped and torn, even greener eyes wide with fear. Afraid, as she was right to be. Any other child would have died then, as the young Vanir rebel lifted her onto his shoulder to carry her away to her execution. But Hela of Asgard was no other child. She was the Goddess of Death, and as panic coursed through her veins, she felt cool, dark steel forming against the soft skin of her child's-palm for the very first time._

_The new blade, so sharp it could have cut the stone of the cave they were in, slid through the child-goddess bonds with no resistance, and then into Byggvir’s throat with even less. Hearing the Vanir cry out before he died, the remaining warriors quickly came to their feet and charged toward the little Goddess of Death._

_Fear once again surged up in Hela, and as she lifted her hands to protect herself, blades like the one that had appeared in her hand burst out of the floor before her. Spears the size of grown men cut unflinchingly upward, slicing stone and Vanir alike. The rebels died screaming, trapped in a net of pitch black spikes, severing their limbs and binding them in place, leaving them to bleed out in darkness._

_When Odin All-Father found his daughter in the cave, she was lying quite still on the floor, surrounded by pools of blood, and for a moment, he was terrified. Then he saw the way in which she was lying, curled in on herself, hands covering her ears from the screams, legs drawn up to her stomach, trying to get as far away as possible, and he was relieved._

_“Daughter, Hela, sweet child. You are safe now.” he cooed, collecting the trembling child in his arms. “You killed them all, my little warrior. You killed all the bad men, so they can never hurt you again. You did so well. You were so brave. I am so proud of you.”_

_The child-goddess looked up at her father, eyes wide. He was not lying, happiness and pride radiated from his eyes. They had sneered to his face and laughed behind his back when he had told them the Völva had said that the bastard child he had brought home from a dead mother would be Goddess of Death, but now they would have to believe._

_To her father’s side stood Frigga, the woman who had taken Hela to her chest and called her daughter. The child-goddess looked to her to confirm the joy she saw on her father’s face, to learn that she was truly safe now. Her mother indeed looked relieved. But not happy. Queen Frigga saw the blood on her daughter’s hands and felt the cold claws of destiny grab at her spine. Her blue eyes met the girl’s green ones with sadness, and fear._

_"_  

Silence stretched in a different cave as the Goddess of Death finished her telling. Hela stared resolutely froward, her face so devoid of emotion it might have almost been comical. Loki’s eyes flickered back and forth between her face and his hands. Finally, the God of Lies had to do the thing he did best, and spoke words of silver.

“I don’t remember the first time I killed.” he told his sister, voice carefully empty. “It must have been in one of my brother’s fights. Some poor fool at a tavern where Thor wished to blow off some steam, or some bandit stupid enough set up camp in the path of one of our adventures. They all just blend together into nothing at all. I do, however, remember the first time I killed my way, because _I_ wanted to.”

There was a beat, and then. “Go on then, tell me.”

So Loki did.

 _"_  

_That midsummer night was a cold night, an iron night. Frost suffocated the yellow and pink flowers budding outside the hall, mist came on each breath of the guards lungs. White crustal built on green blades of grass beneath the clear, starcrossed sky. Warm air of bonfires and celebrating, dancing bodies froze the moment it dared try to leave the wooden longhall, and even the orange light seeping out through cracks in the wood was seemingly smothered by the night._

_Through the cold and dark of that fateful night came a woman. Draped in the dark fur of a wolf, her elegant dress scraping across the frozen ground and her black hair glittering in the starlight. No guard even thought to stop her - for such a beautiful lady could surely belong nowhere else but in the hall of King Harald._

_The female stranger stepped into the feast hall in silence, yet her entrance still drew the eyes of many. They called for her to come sit by them, to dance with them and tell them her story, but while the lady smiled at all, she did not stop by any of them. Instead, the stranger strode through the length of the hall, green dress falling behind her as she made her way past roasting boars and dancing maidens, toward the high seat of the place._

_In that seat sat King Harald Seafarer, the highest lord of the Swedes, sipping wine from the far south and whispering with one of his consorts. When he caught the stranger approaching, he pushed that girl aside, however, and welcomed the new beauty with his arms lifted._

_“My Lady! Never, in all my many years of ruling, have I cast eyes on such beauty! Prey sit by my side and tell me your fair name!” the King was drunk and foolish, but even if he had not been, there were not many who could resist the stranger who had stepped into his home._

_“King.” the woman greeted him, falling into a most courteous bow, before taking the indicated seat beside him. “This lady has the honor of being Tökk, daughter of Urd, and I have come to show my gratitude.”_

_“Your gratitude, my fair? There are many things for which the people should be grateful to me, indeed, but pray tell, beautiful one, to which one are you referring?” Harald threw his arm around the stranger, bringing her closer, and smiled with all his rotten teeth. At the far end of the hall, a loud yell went up as some warriors, deep in drink, began a brawl with each other, but the King paid them no heed._

_“You have many sons, do you not, King?” the beautiful woman asked, eyes twinkling with mischief as she leaned in closer to the drunken lord._

_“I do, my gorgeous lady. No-one may ever say that King Harald does not have strong seed, or does not beget strong sons.” the King nodded, pride filling his features. “My Erik has trice sailed against the Russ, and trice come back with his ships filled with treasure to the point of sinking. My Tor-Leif has raised an army on horseback the strongest in all the northern lands and taken many of the closeby fiefdoms with them. My Sigrud has himself slayed not one, but two dragons - imagine that lady, two dragons! To chose which of them will take over my kingdom after my death will be hard work indeed.”_

_“But what of your youngest, King? I do not spot Alvar in you hall?” such an innocent question, asked by such innocent eyes. Over by the hearths, the fighting had spread across the hall, the music fading as the musicians joined in the battle._

_“That boy was no son of mine.” the King spoke dismissively, not liking the way the conversation was going, but at the beautiful stranger’s curious smile, he was forced to continue. “Alvar Heavyfooted was never much of a warrior, but we all forgave him that. What could not be forgiven, however, was when he was found consorting with- with demons. The fool was seen taking a creature of old religion to our home, playing and dancing with one of the Aesir monsters thought purged from this land.”_

_“And so he was punished, of course?” the woman asked, voice suddenly blank. Realizing her slip, she quickly smiled and poured the King more wine._

_“Yes, of course.” King Harald said. He didn’t sound sorry, not in the least, only annoyed that one of his kin had inconvenienced him so. “Like the heathens of old, he was bound and burned alive.”_

_At his side, the strange woman stiffened at his words. Something terribly dark passed over her face. Just as fast as it had arrived though, that emotion was gone - replaced with one that truly terrified the King for the first time in a lifetime. The beautiful woman smiled, and in that smile all the pain of a millenia was written. And the King knew he would die._

_“One should always be careful with those Old Gods, King, least one accidentally insult one. I hear their wrath can be quite formidable.” around them, the hall had erupted into chaos. Warrior was attacking warrior, brother killing brother. Fire had spread from the hearths onto the benches and up around the walls._

_“This, King of Mortals, is my gratitude. The end of your meager existence, the end of your sons, the end of your line, and the end of your kingdom. All of it will burn and be swallowed by the flames, the way you ended your child.” the woman who was no mere mortal woman rose, the King toppling forward out of his seat in her wake. He tried to beg, tried to curse, but before he could speak a word, Loki was gone._

_Outside in the cold, an old man who was no old man was waiting for the woman. He was clad like a vagabond, tattered clothes, long beard and a deep hood covering his one eye. Paying no mind to the screaming and running of the guards and servants around him as they tried desperately to break into the sealed, burning hall, he waited patiently for her to walk up to him._

_“My son -” he began when she did._

_“Daughter at the moment, actually, Father.” she told him, that smile that promised torment and retribution still on her lips._

_“Child,” Odin snorted back, his anger bleeding through his sage-like demeanor. “What explanation do you have for this fooly? What could possibly warrant you destroying decades of careful planning and preparation?”_

_“If Thor had -” the young princess tried, but now it was her turn to be interrupted._

_“You are not Thor!” she staggered backward at her father’s sudden shout. “You’re supposed to be the sensible child, Loki. The one I can trust to handle himself with patience and thought. The one I can trust to understand the importance of these mortals forgetting about our existence. We must protect the Tesseract, and it does not do for these Midgardians to remember even that we came here with it. Two centuries of making sure they had chosen new gods - only for you to ruin it all with this spectacular reappearance.”_

_“I- I- “ momentarily at a loss of words, Loki fell to her knees at her father’s feet. “They won’t know what did this. All who saw me will he dead before dawn. Those who remain will think it nothing more than a fire, an accident.”_

_The Goddess of Lies looked up at Odin All-Father, fear in her eyes now. He did not look placated, but he also didn’t look quite as angry as before. “I’m sorry, Father. I truly am. I was acting like an idiot. I was angry and I-”_

_“It is alright, my son. If the damage is as minimal as you claim, there seems little reason to make a fuss of this.” the King of the Aesir sighed and drew his hood back from his face, looking away from his daughter and up at the sky. “Let us return to Asgard. Speak no more of this, and get rid of that disguise, it is disgraceful.”_

_“Heimdall!” the old god called, and the Bifrost fell toward them as the woman before him melted away. Long black hair grew short, dress faded into armor, curves became the skinny limbs of a male Aesir not yet in his majority. Odin nodded once, satisfied, and then both gods disappeared._

_"_

Silence again. Loki fidgeted, green flicks of magic passing playfully over his fingers as he concentrated perhaps a little to hard on making four small pebbles spin in the air above his palm. It was Hela’s turn to break the silence, and she did so after a pause only slightly to long.

“You loved that human boy?” it seemed the easiest question of the ones she had.

“I suppose I must have. I can hardly remember anymore. This was all a very long time ago.” he shrugged, throwing each of the little pebbles hard against the opposite wall before continuing. “Must be neat for you, not having to love anything.”

“I love, brother.” the Goddess of Death protested. “Not in that fluffy, lovey-dovey way that the bards are so fond of, but that’s hardly the only kind of love.”

“You loved Frigga and Odin?” the fallen prince threw back the exiled Queen’s earlier question at her, half spiteful, half curious. And perhaps a little hopeful. If she could love them, then-

“I see what you are doing, just so you know.” avoiding the question in true Hela fashion, the goddess slipped back into her haughty facade with ease.

“And what, sweet sister, am I doing?” the God of Lies once again put on his most innocent face. Masks they were at least both good at.

“You’re trying to manipulate me.”

“I would never!” fake indignation, complete with a hurt hand raised to his heart.

“Yes, you would.”

“I would.” he relented, smiling again. “Fine, what am I trying to manipulate you into?”

“You want to know what happened, why I was banished.” the Goddess of Death smiled her most superior smile, the one that said Yggdrasil itself was beneath her. “You could just ask. It is not a story I am ashamed of, Odin was the one who failed, Odin was the one who did wrong. All I did was what I was born to do.”

“Well then. Why were you banished, sister?” 

_"_

_Hela, the Goddess of Death, Odin’s Firstborn, First Executioner of the Golden Realm and Commander of the Legions of Asgard, had taken what of those legions still remained loyal to her and marched on what was meant to become the tenth Realm under Asgardian rule. The new planet had only days before been covered in strange red and blue plantlife, deep green oceans and scaleclad animals. Now, there was nothing but aches._

_The clash between Hela’s forces and those of her father Odin’s had left the planet, which had never before seen a soldier, a burned husk of its former self. What remained of the two armies fought with desperation on earth littered with the bodies of their dead comrades. The Goddess of Death and the God of War throwing everything they had at each other, vying for power over the cosmos itself._

_On the ninth day, Odin All-Father was victorious. On her knees before him, the Goddess of Death was the last of her own army left alive. In the distance, she could see the small mound of dark fur that had only minutes before been her Fenris, dead now, like all the rest. Hela looked up at her father, and there was pure hatred in her eyes._

_“What is it All-Father? Finish it! Or are you afraid I’ll come back and haunt you?” she couldn’t do much, but she could still mock him. So weak. So pathetic. Was this truly the same Aesir she had followed into battle all those years?_

_“Stop this now, Hela. Come home with us. Let go of your poisonous ambition. When does your conquest end? A hundred burned worlds? A thousand? There is no point.” he sounded tired, lost, a child asking for answers._

_“No point, All-Father? I am the Goddess of Death. This is the meaning of my existence.” an empty, crazed grin covered the goddess face. Hela was good for one thing, and now Odin wanted to throw that one thing away. Not going to happen, old man._

_“If you will not relent, I will have no other choice then to judge you a traitor and sentence you accordingly.” there was real regret in Odin’s voice, pain and sorrow. She hated it, she hated him. The one thing that had always made him proud now disappointed him, and she didn’t understand what had changed._

_“Do your worst, daddy.” Hela never stopped smiling, not when he raised Gungnir, not when he began to chant, not when the portal opened around her, not when she fell into the darkness. The Goddess of Death held her father’s eyes, because they were the only thing that mattered._

_"_  

“So, basically, the old fool couldn’t kill me, so he banished me instead.” Hela finished her telling, remarkably less affected by this story then she had been by the last one.

“He said- when he told us, Odin said he couldn’t- but I just assumed he meant he-” her little brother mumble under his breath.

“That he wasn’t strong enough? Well, in a way, he wasn’t. And, also, you know, a _benevolent_ king can hardly go around murdering his own children. Would totally ruin his image after all.” the exiled Queen shrugged. “It hardly matters anymore, does it? We’re all dead.”

There was another long silence then, broken only by the distant _drip drop_ of water down in some cave below them. Loki found some new pebbles to play with, while Hela called a sword into her hands and began pointlessly sharpening it.

“I’m sorry.” Loki’s words were no more than a whisper. “I know you hate apologies. But I killed you, and I feel like I should- “

“First. You didn’t kill me, little brother. Surtur killed me. _You_ couldn’t kill me if I had both my hands tied behind my back and a blindfold over my eyes.” the Goddess of Death had interrupted her little brother by thrusting her blade at his throat, and she held it there as she continued talking. “Actually, even if I also had my legs tied and my magic blocked. And was locked in a tiny cell with barely any movement. And-”

“I get the picture.” her brother bit her words off, voice sounding annoyed. But he was smiling again. “Secondly?”

“Second. Even if you had, against frankly incredible odds, killed me, I wouldn’t hold it against you. So no more feeling sorry for yourself.” the goddess declared, standing once again and pulling a second sword out of the air.

“Excuse me?” the God of Lies rose to his feet to join her, apprehensively taking the blade she held out for him.

“Enough stories. I need to stab something.” Hela smiled and watched the expression mirror on her brother’s face. “Oh. And if you get a single hit in on me - with that sword, not some sneaky dagger - I’ll conceded that you killing me is not impossible, just very, _very_ unlikely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again I don’t know how clear I made it, but neither Hela nor Loki have reached the Asgardian equivalent of 18 in any of the stories told in this chapter. And that made this very uncomfortable to write. And maybe it also was to read? That was the point. For it to be uncomfortable, I mean. But I still feel like I should maybe have warned more about it? Is five-year-old Hela murdering people on accident covered by the violence and gore tags? Summary: If you have ideas for better tags for this, please tell me, and I’ll add them!
> 
> On a less depressing note: I saved Skadi! See. I wrote the part where Hela says she killed all of Tjasse’s family - because that is sooo Hela - and then realized that would mean that Skadi was dead. Which is not ok. In any continuity. I then tried writing in her survival in the dialogue, but that sidetracked the whole conversation. Now, I have decided that Hela _thinks_ she killed them all, but Skadi actually got away through general badassery, escaped to Vanaheim (married Njord if you wanna be a stickler for canon) and lived happily ever after!
> 
> Aaanyway, next part we’ll hopefully get back to our regularly scheduled program of attempted hostile-realm-takeover, so I’ll maybe see you then?


	7. Nastrand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skurge is heading for Hel. Literaly, and quite possibly also figuratively. All on the orders of the Queen. Just weeks after he swore to never take orders from royalty ever again. But this is Frigga All-Mother we’re talking about, goddess of all things fluffy and good (or something). What could possibly go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I- I don’t know what to say. I just. Stuff happened. And I- uh. It was all Skurge’s fault! Yes! That is correct! Skurge ruined everything and that’s why you have waited two months for this chapter! I stand by that explanation! Blame him! I am an innocent victim!
> 
> …
> 
> Yeah. Ya’ll didn’t fall for that, huh? Well. The chapter is here now, and I’m sure you’d rather read that then my terribly long excuses, so I’ll just quickly say my usual thanks to @MagicalGirlHell, who is as amazing as ever, and implore everyone to hold on to something sturdy - cuz we’ve got rocky seas ahead. 
> 
> At last, the telling returns!

For the third time in much too short a period, Skurge, formerly Hela’s Executioner, was threading through the forests of Valhalla in the direction of Hel. Something he had, genuinely, honestly, thought he'd never do again. But the All-Mother had asked him to, and so here he was. 

It had been a perfectly fine morning in the great grey castle that housed the deceased heroes of Asgard. The sun had shone, as it always did, above Valhalla. In the garden Lycka had found his new calling in digging tiny holes in the perfectly manicured grass and Skurge had managed to secure a leg of yesterday's feast-boar for his breakfast, which he had been eating, surrounded by nothing but greenery and the happy _huffs_ of a tiny Bilgesnipe, perfectly relaxed. 

The only real splinter keeping the morning from being thoroughly enjoyable, if one overlooked general everyday problems, such as everybody still hating Skurge’s guts, had been the Valkyries’ departure on the morning prior. The Valkyries being the only ones, except for Frigga, in all of Valhalla who did not, in fact, hate Skurge's guts, them leaving, and leaving him behind, had been enough to get him seriously drunk the evening prior. But then, that departure had gotten a pretty massive silver lining. A silver lining in the form of a visit.

Right before the big, fancy, flurry of great white wings, parade-style departure of the Valkyries, that had lived up to Skurge's every childhood dream and then some, two of them had come knocking on Skurge’s door. How they had found him he still didn’t know. And he vaguely also didn’t really want to find out, as he was pretty sure they had opted for some scary black ops tactics rather than just asking the Queen. Regardless, he had opened the door that morning, still a bit groggy and hungover, to find Randgrid and Sigrdrifa standing, somewhat awkwardly, outside his chambers.

“Uh- Hi?” Skurge had prompted when neither of them said anything for far longer than had seemed reasonable for two individuals who had walked all the way to the other side of the castle just to knock on somebody else’s door at such an early hour.

Randgrid, the dark first-lieutenant of the Valkyries, had shoved her blond Captain forward. 

“Right, right. Give it a rest, would you?” the pale young Valkyrie had thrown a poisonous glare at her second in command before turning her cold grey eyes on Skurge. “Skurge of Valhalla, I, Sigrdrifa, as Captain of the Valkyries, would like to formally inform you that, should you wish it, I have found no legal cause to keep you from once again visiting the hall of the Ladies of Battle.” 

And then, with that court, formal nod she always made, the Captain of the Valkyries had marched off down the corridor without so much as a glance at either of them. This would have been odd behavior for anyone else, but for the Captain of the Valkyries, it was pretty much par for the course. What was weird, though, was what she had said prior to her marching off.

“Did she just? I mean. She- What?” the bald warrior had demanded, just after the blond Valkyrie disappeared around the corner at the end of the hallway.

“She invited you to come visit us again. Sort of.” Randgrid had shrugged, brown eyes twinkling with badly concealed smugness. “And now she’s gone to scream for her not-dead girlfriend in the void for a bit.”

“That was an _invitation_?” Skurge had, quite justifiably, queried.

The remaining Valkyrie had nodded, sighing. “Honestly. You’d think our fearless leader would be able to handle defeat a little more graciously.”

When Skurge had continued looking rather skeptical, it had been terribly early in the morning, and it had been a terribly depressing night before that, she had added to her explanation. “We took a vote on it. Sigrdrifa may be our Captain, but that doesn’t make her our sole ruler. Voting _is_ more fair. Sigrdrifa agrees, so long as she’s not the _only one_ voting against foreign visitors. It’s not even really your fault, she’s just a terrible loser.”

Skurge had turned the words over in his head for a moment. He had been _very_ tired, and a tragically large part of him had been _very_ certain that the entire conversation was in fact nothing more than a dream. But, thank the Norns, a slightly more sensible part of him had decided that, regardless, he had better enjoy this while it lasted. Looking back at the dark Valkyrie just outside his door, he had been met with a wide, if slightly bemused, white-tooth smile.

“Well, I'll make sure to visit as soon as I am able-”

“No pressure. Just, you know, come hang out sometime. This whole vote-and-official-invite thing was just to make sure you wouldn’t feel awkward about Sigrdrifa and her ulta-death-stare.” she’d snorted, clearly not impressed by her Captain’s more childish battle tactics. 

Skurge had decided not to tell the Valkyrie that he felt the opposite of pressured into visiting the Valkyrie and that he would gladly brave Sigrdrifa's death-stare to get away from Valhalla and the disapproving sneers he got from _everyone_ there. He hadn't wanted to seem desperate.

“Great. That’s- Awesome. Really.” the bald warrior had said, barely repressing the _I am forever grateful_ that attempted to slip out along with it.

For a goodbye, the dark Valkyrie had punched the bulky Aesir’s shoulder in a gesture of comradery that he hadn't realized he'd missed, before jogging of down the corridor after her presumably still angry Captain.

All in all, the departure of the Valkyries hadn’t been that bad. And so the next morning, that most recent one that had been ruined by a trip to the Underworld, Skurge had still been floating happily in the emotional state reserved for those who were friends with, or at least well liked acquaintances of, 200 of the most legendary warriors of all time. Really, it had all been a little to good to be true, which was why the Norns had chosen that exact moment for Frigga All-Mother, Queen of Valhalla, to appear.

The Queen of Valhalla had entered the abandoned garden in which Skurge and Lycka where having their breakfast in a swirl of gilded silk. Skurge didn’t think he had ever seen the All-Mother move quite so fast. Somehow, Frigga always seemed to exist in this eternal state of stillness, her movements soft and smooth, yet deliberate - perhaps even calculated. That morning, however, she had been a whirlwind, sweeping into the garden in her golden dress, Shieldmaiden and Dis into her fingertips.

“Skurge, my friend,” the steely look on Frigga’s face had softened only for a moment when she greeted him. “I am afraid I have something that I must ask of you.”

The Aesir warrior had come to his feet faster than he’d ever thought possible, letting his breakfast drop to the ground in the process. “Of course, All-Mother, anything. I'm at your service. Tell me how I can help.”

“Do not be so hasty too agree, Warrior. You might sign yourself up for more than you can handle” she’d answered, letting him know with a quirk of her eyebrow that she had noticed the formal title - and would like him to _give the other kid’s toy back now, young man_.

“That’s great advice, _Frigga_ , but if you want help, I'll help you. Whatever it is.” he’d smiled a loop sided smile. It wasn't simply that Frigga was the Queen of Asgard and Valhalla both, although it certainly helped, but mostly, Skurge couldn't bear the thought of letting her down. He'd let down quite enough people as it was. Plus, last time she'd asked him for help had turned into an adventure of epic proportions.

“Even if I ask you to go to Hel?” beneath the joking smile she had looked serious. This wasn’t some fun side-quest, this was important business. 

“Sure.” Skurge had answered, squaring his shoulders. “Though- I mean- why?”

“Remember how, during the last battle, all of Hela’s forces suddenly turned on her?” the Queen had begun, pacing back and forth across the grass as she spoke.

“Yeah. The All-Father said they would - in his big speech - said they’d turn on the Butcher once they saw the true might of Asgard’s heroes.” _And that was probably horseshit._ Skurge had guessed but not said out loud. Frigga’s lips had quirked back upwards a little, clearly inferring it herself.

“He was lying, of course. My husband is very good at many things, but honesty is not one of them.” she had shaken her head slightly, her eyes distant in that way that meant she was thinking of her children. Luckily, the urgency of her current quest seemed enough to distract her from that sadness. “The dead of Hel didn’t turn on their Queen willingly. In fact, they hardly do anything willingly anymore. They are lost, empty. This is because, well - you have seen part of the Underworld now, and you know it is not a pleasant place.”

Skurge had, and he couldn’t have agreed more. He remembered flying in over an endless grey desert. Nothing but empty sand stretching out underneath him, doted with the empty husks of the dishonorable dead, ending finally at foreboding dark mountains of in the distance. The sky above filled by a sun, a huge, white-hot orb, mercilessly burning all beneath it until the air rippled around the heat. _Not a pleasant place_ was seriously underselling it.

“The Aesir who awake there after their deaths are - “ the Queen had trailed off, searching for words. “They know where they are, instinctively. They realize what has happened, that they have not been deemed fit for Valhalla. They know they are doomed to wander that desert for eternity. Most lose their minds in a matter of days. For others it takes years. Regardless, they are soon nothing more then husks of their former selves. Ready to be ruled.”

As they say - it could always be _worse_. Living in Valhalla with nothing but people who despised him was bad, sure, but Hel clearly would have been worse. Much worse. Skurge had shuddered.

“To rule them, all one has to do, is sit on the Throne of Hel.” Frigga had stopped her pacing and turned toward Skurge. “When she arrived in the Land of the Dead, my daughter did this, and so they obeyed her. To take them away from her, Odin had to take the throne himself, pulling the magic away from her. It worked, for a time, but now my husband needs to leave Hel, and we can not leave the throne unguarded.”

The former Executioner understood what she had said, of course, but it still took him a moment to form his mouth into the words. “You want me to rule Hel?”

“It is only temporary.” the All-Mother quickly added. “My husband needs to attend a diplomatic meeting with representatives from Folkvagn, anything less would be an insult to the Vanir. While he is gone someone must take his place on the Underworld’s throne. And let us just say that most Aesir are terribly ill suited for such a task.”

“I’m not saying I refuse. Or anything. But- just. I’m pretty sure _I’m_ ill suited to such a task.” For the longest time, Skurge had thought himself destined for great heroics, and had even taken the post of Gatekeeper, though it was clearly above his pay grade, to prove it, to himself as well as everyone else. Yet at no point had the warrior even entertained that notion that he was suited to a throne of any kind. He wanted recognition, sure, but never to rule anything, or anyone.

“Ah, but that's why you're perfect.” Frigga had smiled again, looking quite pleased with herself at the bald warriors bemused expression. “Humility is quite rare in Asgardians, you know. I tried long and hard to instill it in my own children, only to fail miserably. Skurge of Valhalla, you are all the things the Aesir value, brave, loyal and strong. But you are also clever and, most importantly, kind.” 

Skurge had scoffed at that. “You just want me to do it because of my connection to Loki.”

Frigga’s smile had tinted sideways into mischief, even as her eyes had turned oddly sad. “For that reason as well, though don't disregard my earlier statements as false. I simply believe that the strength of your character, along with your, I suppose, understanding of my youngest son, will let you make the right decisions for Hel.“

If it hadn't been for that previous adventure, right there might have been Skurge had decided to refuse the Queen's request for help. But despite her oddities, or perhaps because of them, Frigga seemed to know her way around odd situations. And Skurge, somewhat surprised at himself, had found that he trusted her to know that this was the way to deal with the current one. “All right then. It’s only temporary anyway, right?”

“Yes. You only need to be there for a few days.” the All-Mother had reassured, looking as though a great weight had been lifted of her shoulders.

“So. When do I leave?”

“As soon as possible. I am afraid I can’t send anyone with you. I thought a small personal guard, at least, would be prudent, but my husband has demanded absolute secrecy in this matter.” Frigga had made face that clearly showed her displeasure with said husband, and Skurge had silently wondered how Odin ever dared disagree with his wife.

“I can handle myself.” Skurge had repeated. “Though. If you could help me with -”

“Of course, anything.” the Queen had responded enthusiastically, and Skurge had respectfully decided not to remind her of her own earlier warning on agreeing to things too quickly. 

“I can’t bring Lycka with me to Hel.” at the mention of his name, the tiny little bilgesnipe had looked up from his hole digging, and, finally noticing Frigga, had charged over as fast as his little legs could carry him to greet the Queen. “He’ll be fine staying here alone for a few days. Probably. He’s pretty smart. He can go in and out as he pleases and he knows where the food is. Still. It’d be nice if he had a bit of company. Only when you have time, obviously.”

“It will be my genuine pleasure.” the Queen of Valhalla had told him, picking up the young calf and petting him softly on the head.

And then, just like that, Skurge had agreed to take over as King of Hel. He had seen the irony in that, of course. But he wasn’t doing it for glory or something equally stupid this time. He was doing a genuinely good thing. Helping. Being a hero. What could possibly go wrong?

\---

Nothing had gone wrong during Skuge’s departure from the castle. No-one had noticed him or questioned where he was going. Nothing went wrong as Skurge traversed the dense, ancient forest of Valhalla. There were a few annoying branches and a squirrel that was definitely mocking him, but nothing that threatened the mission. Nothing went wrong even as Skurge passed the entrance to the ravine that served as passageway to Hel. The God of Lies had been telling the truth about taking down the barrier that had previously sealed it shut, and Skurge could pass through no problem.

In the end, almost half a day passed before anything went wrong, and when it did, it didn’t even go _that_ terribly wrong. It was just that, when Skurge entered the ravine, he got uninvited company.

“You? _Skurge the Executioner_ is who she decided to send?” said Executioner turned around and found himself once again facing one of the black haired Odinsbarn. Only good news; at least it was the younger version.

“Yes. She sent me.” the bald Aesir confirmed, hand rising to Sumarbrand. Fighting a master mage with a sword, even a magic, probably sentient, sword, was not great odds. Last time, the very attempt had ended before it even started - Trickster God simply disappearing in a puff of smoke. Yet Skurge could hardly do _nothing at all_ to defend himself. So sword it was. “If this is an ambush, it's not a very good one.”

The fallen prince tilted his head to the side, eyeing him, predatory eyes glittering. 

“Then it's a good thing it isn't one anymore,” the God of Lies finally declared, before walking up to Skurge and then past him down the ravine. Skurge sighed, let go of his sword and followed. At this point he was about 80 percent sure Loki was doing the cryptic thing on purpose, just to annoy him, and was very much succeeding in doing so. But the God of Lies was wrong if he thought Skurge was going to let it show.

“Why not?” the bald warrior asked, voice level, as they walked side by side toward Hel. Having only flown through it before, at great speed and surrounded by Valkyries, the seemingly endless, oppressing darkness of the gate hadn't been properly impressed on him, but now the bald Aesir could feel it. The ravine, or perhaps tunnel, that lead to Hel, it's stone walls covered in runes, reaching up toward an unseen sky, felt older and more powerful then Valhall ever had, and Skurge suddenly really needed Loki to talk. About anything. So when the prince didn't answer his first question, he posed another. “What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here?” Loki grinned with all his teeth, clearly feeling the warrior's discomfort. “Can’t I visit a friend without having my intentions questioned?”

“I’m not your friend, Loki.” 

The Trickster God chuckled at that. “Not friends? What would Frigga say?” 

“She’d probably be heartbroken.” the bald warrior confirmed.

“Probably true.” Loki told him, voice strangely empty. Skurge glanced over at the God of Lies, but found him looking straight forwards, chin raised and mouth pulled into a smirk that betrayed nothing. Belatedly, the former Executioner remembered that the whole reason that he was here was that he apparently was supposed to understand the fallen prince. So much for the All-Mother knowing what she's doing. 

They walked on in silence for a time, the oppressing height of the gate above them and nothing but darkness in fornt of them. Finally, as Skurge was getting ready to start asking Loki about his favorite color, if only to get him to distract them from it, the god broke the silence. “May I introduce the _friend I was visiting_ , Garm, Guradian of the Gate to Hel.”

Bright, burning light and terrible heat met the two as they stepped out of the ravine and onto the endless sands of Hel. The sun stood high in the tall, cloudless sky above grey sand and black rock. The temperature was even more unbearable than last time. _Not a pleasant place._

Between the travelers and the desert lay a great, dark wolf, shadowed by the mountain. She was the biggest living creature Skurge had ever seen (and he’d seen a Muspelheim dragon), and her black fur glittered in the light. Any and all embarrassment at having misunderstood Loki quickly evaporated in favour of awe.

“ _I am honored by your awe, Gatekeeper, but it is misplaced. This is simply what I look like, not what I am._ ” the words rang like bells, clear and oddly beautiful - but, rather more oddly, _not_ audible. Before them, the wolf had opened her great, yellow eye and was watching them. Somehow, she had spoken in their minds. Either that, or Skurge was finally going insane.

“ _Worry not, Warrior of Asgard, I am the one you heard._ ” Skurge could _feel_ the wolf chuckle in his mind. Mindreading-wolf. No way that could possibly become a problem. Skurge regarded the gigantic being that had denied being a wolf wearily. _Guardian of the Gate_. If he was less than optimistic about his odds fighting Loki, this was one fight he was all but guarantied to lose. 

“ _You do not need to fight me, Bane Bringer._ ” the wolf in his mind laughed again. “ _I aim only to keep those who belong from leaving, never to stop those who do not from entering. The three of you are free to come and go as you please._ ”

“The three of us?” Skurge asked, out loud, as he was less then sure on how the mind-reading-thin worked.

“ _Yes, the three of us._ ” Skurge flinched so much he was practically jumping when Loki joined the conversation in his mind. An ancient wolf and the God of Mischief now sharing space in his head. Great. “ _You’re not trying to tell us you didn’t realize that he was following you?_ ”

The Trickster god turned around and Skurge reluctantly followed suit - because who in the Nine turns their back on a gigantic wolf enthusiastically? - just as he spoke. “You can come out now little beast! The game is up!”

Skurge really felt he should be more shocked then he was, seeing the small, red blur come charging down the path toward them - but stubbornly following somebody through a dense forest and then the Gate of Hel, without even knowing why they were going there, was such a Lycka thing to do. Or maybe it was a Skurge thing to do. Either way, when the tiny bilgesnipe came screeching to a halt in front of him, a look of pride-mixed guilt on his little face, Skurge felt only mildly surprised. Loki was right again - he really should have suspected this.

“ _My apologies, little one, I did not see that you were hiding._ ” the wolf - Garm - was genuinely apologetic, Skurge could feel it in whatever bond she was speaking through. Lycka must have felt it as well, because after eyeing the wolf suspiciously for a moment he made a small movement with his head - a bow or a nod - and then proceeded to fearlessly wander over to her and begin inspecting her very big claws.

“Oi, Lycka!” Skurge called after his little ward, half worried, half annoyed. “You can’t be here. You need to go back. It’s not safe here!”

As he spoke, Skurge realized the ridiculousness of that statement. Because Lycka couldn’t be here, in Hel, but he _sure as Hel_ couldn’t walk back on his own either. For tiny bilgesnipe, Valhalla’s forests were just as dangerous as Hel’s deserts. What Skurge really wanted to do was to pick up his little ward and walk him back to Valhall himself. Only problem with that was that he had _sort of_ promised Frigga to get to the All-Father as fast as possible. And also, even if he did bring Lycka back, there was no way to insure the little beast wouldn’t follow him back here again. If Skurge was to stubborn for his own good, Lycka was stubborner.

“ _That is quite the conundrum, Hero of Valhalla._ ” Garm added to his thoughts, a smile that was sort of amused and - approving? Wistful? _Fond?_ \- following along. “ _But I assure you, there is no danger to your ward here._ ”

Loki laughed at that. “ _Danger? The worst the dishonorable dead will do is make him question the fairness of the universe. The oafish_ heroes _of Valhalla will do far worse. The dead here are depressing, certainly, but not very dangerous._ ”

Skurge looked from one to the other, increasingly incredulous frown on his face. Frigga thought Loki had no friends, or perhaps that he had only one, in the from of Skurge of all people. But looking between the God of Mischief and the Guardian of Hel, the bald warrior thought he had found a real friend of Loki's. Now, the only question was whether he could trust them. The mindbond said he could, it said they were both completely sincere. Then again, he'd never spoken with anyone through a mindbond before, and perhaps that sense of emotion was simply a trick, an elaborate lie. 

He also, if he was completely honest, in the deep selfish parts of his heart he didn’t want to acknowledge, really, really wanted to take Lycka with him. Leaving the little bilgesnipe behind had quite frankly sucked, and now that the animal was here, adorably following him to the literal Gate of Hel and all, he wanted to do it again even less. Lycka was family, the only one he had after the whole _Executioner of Asgard_ debacle, and that wasn’t something to take for granted. Still. Trusting Loki and the titanic wolf? Fishy.

In the end, what made him make up his mind was Lycka playing with Garm’s claws (which, if anyone had forgotten, were the size of Sumarbrand and then some), running between them as the giant wolf held her paw up helpfully. 

“Fine, whatever you say.” Skurge shook his head, both at them and himself, before picking Lycka up by his neck and walking out toward the desert. “But just so you know, Loki, I’m trusting the terrifying wolf-monster I just met two minutes ago - not you. No offence Garm.”

“ _None taken._ ” the Gatekeeper of the Underworld responded lazily before leaving Skurge’s head altogether. It felt strangely like he had lost something.

\---

By the time he reached the tall, black mountain Frigga had instructed him to head toward, Skurge had sworn every sacred oath he knew to never again wear armour. Or at least not black armour. In the desert. It was a terribly, horribly bad idea. Skurge wasn’t even sweating anymore, it was as though every last drop of water had long since left his body. And Lycka was doing even worse. After spending the first hour of their journey across the sand trying every conceivable way to crawl out of Skurge’s arms, he now lay very still in them, breathing in small, tired _puffs_.

The cave-alcove that held the Throne of Hel was a balm on their skin. As they stepped inside, cool, damp air met them, and Skurge was pretty sure he had never been as happy to arrive anywhere before - in life or in death. The table before the throne was perhaps even better, and before he ever bothered to look toward the All-Father, Skurge sat Lycka down on it, filling a shallow bowl with water for him.

“What in the Nine are _you_ doing here?” the King of Hel and Valhalla finally asked, out off patience as Skurge emptied his second pitcher of water. If Loki had sounded surprised, confused and a bit amused, at Skurge’s appearance, the All-Father sounded downright insulted.

“Your wife sent me to take care of things here while you did something diplomatic with the Vanir. Didn’t she tell you?” before he died, heck, before the last fortnight, Skurge would never have dared. But now, he was personally sent by the Queen herself on a serious, heroic mission, and he felt he deserved _some_ credit.

“ _I_ asked my wife, _the Queen_ , to send someone _reliable_ to protect this realm in my absence. I had no mind that she would send _you_.” the King’s voice was dripping Hela-level amounts of venom. 

“Neither did I, to be honest.” Skurge shrugged. “But I’m already here now, so -”

“So nothing,” the All-Father interrupted. “I can not leave the throne in the hands of a -”

“An honorable warrior who has proven his loyalty and bravery thrice over?” Frigga interrupted the King in turn. Or at least someone who looked a lot like her did. 

The All-Mother had appeared on the steps to the left of the throne, silver dress and golden hair glittering green as she stepped out of nothing. She moved as gracefully as ever toward her husband, eyebrows raised in that disapproving way Skurge himself had been subjected to just this morning. There was something off about her though. Something he couldn’t quite pin down. But it was something. Skurge was sure. Like 80 percent sure.

“Frigga, wife,” Odin almost pleaded, rubbing a tired hand across his forehead, not noticing anything strange about the goddess before him. “You can not be serious.”

“But I am, husband.” the person that was probably-maybe not the Queen assured him. “I know as well as you do how important this is. I would not send someone _unworthy_.”

“It’s not as though I have a choice.” the King sighed. A gesture sent a guard Skurge hadn’t noticed before then to fetch Odin’s beautiful eight-legged warhorse. When the bald warrior looked properly for them, he spotted many similar guards stationed around the hall, each dressed in dark grey fabrics that melted into the walls. _Very creepy._

“You have never been wrong in trusting me before.” the person the King clearly thought was his wife reminded him soberly, tilted smile on her lips.

“I don’t think I ever will be.” the All-Father smiled back fondly, and, with one last suspicious glance at Skurge - who really wasn’t the one who deserved it right now - he mounted his horse and rode out into the desert.

Silence again fell over the hall. Skurge stared after the King until he disappeared, sort of hoping he would come to his senses and return to deal with not-Frigga. Finally, when Odin was no longer visible and he therefore had no more excuse, he turned back around to once again face the Queen-impostor who was sitting in a very un-Friggalike manner on the stairs to the throne.

“For the record, I wasn’t fooled for a second.” the bald warrior stated. As ice-breakers went, it wasn’t his worst ever.

Not-Frigga grinned in a way that made her look _a lot_ like her youngest child. Mystery solved then. Great. 

Loki didn’t seem very antagonistic at the moment though, just mischievous. Probably. “The best part is, this isn’t even the first time he falls for that.”

“You’ve done this before?” Skurge grinned back. The All-Father had just treated him like dirt, so he didn’t feel particularly loyal.

“More often than you’d believe.” Loki happily admitted. “It was originally Thor’s idea, much as I hate to admit it. Pretending to be Frigga makes getting permission for ridiculous adventures much easier.”

They both laughed at that - before Skurge had to pull himself together and ask _important_ and _serious_ questions. “So why’d you do it? You don’t want me on that throne.”

“Well,” the God of Lies seemed to think on the question. Frigga's face - which she was still wearing - folding into a frown. Then, she seemingly found her answer, and, smiling again, began to fade away as she spoke. “How about; _because I want to_?”

Left alone again, at least if one didn’t count the hundred or so creepy guards, Skurge swore into the silence, smile not quite leaving his face. Then, after checking up on a now happily sleeping Lycka, the former Executioner of Asgard stepped onto the dais that held the throne. He traced the runes etched into the dark stone with his fingers for a moment, feeling the ancient power resting there even with his meager, ordinary, non-magical senses. 

Slowly, carefully, Skurge stepped away from the throne. 

Frigga had asked him to protect it, and he would, with his life (death). But sit on it? He would sooner give up Sumarbrand.

\---

Behind the throne tunnels spread into the mountain, forming a surprisingly beautiful underground palace. Everything about it, not just the contents, but the style and even the placements of the rooms, radiated _Hela_. It was grand and lavish, with tall ceilings and deep green drapings. It was ancient and powerful, the same runes as those on the throne decorating each dark stone wall. It was calculated and strategic, the layout almost minimalistic, nothing wasted, everything highly defensible. The Keep of a princess and soldier. Skurge explored for a bit - and then quickly left, feeling like an intruder.

When the bald warrior returned to the throne hall Lycka was no longer sleeping in his spot on top of the long dining table. 

Skurge panicked for about 14 seconds before spotting the tiny animal no more than a few meters away, enthusiastically digging his tiny little holes in the grey sand outside the cave. Sighing with relief, the newly appointed substitute ruler of Hel walked out of the cave and sat down on the ground beside his little ward.

The sun had fallen in the sky, and now rested just above the horizon, letting the temperature drop with it, leaving the air pleasantly warm rather than boiling, a cool breeze coming in from the north. Skurge was pretty sure he had not been underground for long enough for the sun to pass _that_ far, but he also didn’t really care enough to question it.

Everything was very quiet in Hel. In Valhalla, there were always other Aesir singing and laughing, and even when there wasn’t, there would be birds, or animals, or even insects filling the air with sound. Here, the dead were quiet, the only animal making any noises was Lycka, and the only other sound was the wind’s soft pull on the sand. 

It was nice. It was peaceful. So, obviously, the Norns chose that exact moment to make everything go truly, horribly wrong.

It didn’t look like a problem. Not at first. At first, it was just another shadow.

The dead of Hel were not like the dead of Valhalla. Frigga had explained it, but it was something else entirely so see it for himself. The dead here were shells. They were hollow, empty ghosts of the people they had been, wandering aimlessly in the endless desert. Staring endlessly at the sky with dimmed eyes. Shadows.

Inside the ridiculously big cave that held Hel’s throne, one of them was walking toward the table, pither in hand, probably to fill the ones Skurge and Lycka had emptied. Skurge watched her absentmindedly, mostly for lack of anything else to look at in the monotonous landscape. Then, she stumbled.

Skurge wasn’t generally a very observant person, but he’d know that stumble anywhere. The way she caught herself with her left foot on instinct, tilting a bit along with it. As he stood and walked toward her, peace and quiet long forgotten, he noticed other things as well. She was small. Only about tall enough to reach his chest. Beneath the dirt, her short hair was almost-black dark brown. And when she turned toward him, her dimed eyes were brown with flecks of green. Just like his.

The girl may have turned toward him, but she still wasn’t _looking_ at him. Her blank eyes stared at nothing as Skurge approached, not wanting to believe what he was seeing.

Last time he’d met her she’d been taller then he was. She’d stood tall and strong, pulling apples from the high branches of their neighbours trees with little effort, standing like a sentinel beneath them as he climbed, ready to catch him if he fell. Last time he’d seen her, she’d had a smile that could block out the sun, except when he was _the most annoying little brother in all the Nine realms, and that’s the truth!_ Last time he’d heard her, she’d been screaming as she burned.

“I- Ingi?” Skurge asked. The girl before him didn’t react to the name at all.

He hoped for a second that meant it wasn’t her, but the closer he got to her, the more undeniable it became. A few steps away, he froze, unable to move any closer. Hel felt cold. 

Ingi’s eyebrows were the same arches he remembered, but her cheeks were sunken in like she had starved to death. Her nose was pointed slightly up in that same manner that had always bothered her, but the shadows under her eyes were like holes, deep and dark. Her chest was as flat as it had always been, on the brink of womanhood, but her skin was grey like the sand in the desert, falling around her bones like fabric.

Skurge wanted to kill something. Scratch that. He wanted to kill _everything_.

“Loki!” the former Executioner bellowed. No way the prince of Lies had left without some way to watch the proceedings. Skurge may not know much about magic, but he bloody well knew Loki.

Sure enough, only moments later, the God of Lies stepped out of nothing a few meters away, annoyed look on his face. Skurge was over him in seconds.

The tumbled to the floor together, Sumarbrand sinking into Loki’s shoulder and pinning him to the stone beneath Skurge. The fallen prince tried to reach for one of his knives, but Skurge was faster, cutting the trespassing arm off with one of his Vanaheim axes. If anything, Loki just looked more annoyed.

“What?” he spitted out finally when it became clear he wasn’t going to win this fight with physical strength alone. “What do you think I did this time?”

“I- “ Skurge was in fact not entirely sure what he thought Loki had done. This really didn’t seem like the sort of thing the Trickster god would do. But Ingi was here. In Hel. And it had to be _somebody’s_ fault. “What is she doing here?!”

“The girl?” Loki asked, annoyance giving way to confusion. “She probably died dishonorably, why do you- “

“She didn’t.” the former Executioner all but growled. “I know she didn’t. She was good, and kind. She was-”

“She was your sister.” the God of Lies eyes narrowed, something strangely sad passed over his face. Something Skurge hadn’t seen there before. Pity? 

“What is she doing here?” this time, the question was a plea.

“What the Aesir call _dishonorable_ isn’t really about being _bad_ , or even _evil_. Or, you know, Hela and I wouldn’t have come to Valhalla.” the Trickster god tried to shrug, but his shoulder caught in the gigantic red sword holding it in place. Feeling kinda bad about his outburst of violence now, Skurge quickly lifted the blade. “It’s more the _lack_ of honor. Everything that isn’t an honorable death is a dishonorable one. Diseases, accidents, old age - all dishonorable. No middle ground. And your life doesn’t matter. There is no weighing of your deeds. You die with honor, you go to Valhalla, otherwise- ”

The God of Lies trailed off as he rose from the ground, brushing the sand of his clothes and slicking his hair back before continuing. “Have you noticed there are no children i Valhalla? It’s a strange absence. Aesir children are resilient, sure, but they do die _sometimes_. Problem is, children almost never die honorably. They die tragically, horribly and suddenly, but not honorably.” 

Skurge stared at the prince, who still had that look of apprehensive sadness on his face. The bulky warrior felt smaller then he ever had, so small he was sure Ingi would have been able to ruffle his hair with ease if they’d stood next to each other. Looking over at his sister, he saw that she had kneeled down on the ground to be able to reach and pet Lycka, who must have come into the cave during the commotion. Ingi still looked emptily forward, eyes glazed over, but she was stroking Lycka’s scales with the same gentleness he remembered. 

“You saved Odin.” Skurge realized suddenly, turning back to the God of Mischief. “You can save her too, can’t you?”

The trickster looked uncomfortable. “I saved Odin by retelling his story, making it a hero’s sacrifice, I don’t know your sister’s story and I-”

“She died in a fire.” Skurge interrupted, proud at how he kept his voice level. “Her and my parents both. She died saving me, throwing me out a window as the building collapsed. That should count as heroic, right?”

“She did that before she died though, didn’t she?” Loki looked away. “She saved you - and then she tried to run, tried to flee the flames. She died screaming, not fighting. Don’t attack me again! It’s not my fault! Children don’t _fight_ fire, they try to escape it. And that doesn’t count as _honorable_.”

Loki had taken several steps back as he spoke, raising his hands defensively. Now, however, he let them drop to his sides, probably hoping that the more open gesture would make him look more sincere. “Even if I could get her out of here, there isn’t much point. Her mind and memories are gone. She is just as happy here as she’d be anywhere else.”

“Then get them back. Get the memories back.” as Skurge reached for the fallen prince, probably to shake him, Loki’s entire demeanor changed, his face breaking out in a triumphant smile, and he grabbed the warriors hands himself.

“That’s it!” the God of Lies smiled from ear to ear. “The memories!”

“What?” was all Skurge managed to say, before Loki was babbling again.

“That’s the answer to the riddle. _What is Hel? What is Valhalla? What am I?_ It’s memories! I’m an idiot!” when Skurge continued to look unimpressed, the God of Lies shook his head at him. “I know where your sister’s memories are. I might be even be able to get them, but I need to go talk to her first. Have some patience.”

And with those words, the God of Stories was gone. Which _her_ he was talking about was rather unclear.

\---

Ingi really was a shell of the girl she had been. And Skurge was at a loss as for what to do about it.

Loki had left with a promise to fix it, but he wasn’t exactly was Skurge would call _reliable_ , so it fell to the former Executioner to help his sister. Only problem - nothing was working.

He tried talking to her, telling her stories and jokes that he remembered her telling him, but got no response. He tried to get her to eat something from the surreal table in the middle of the cave, but she didn’t even seem to understand what he wanted her to do with the food. He tried singing her the old songs they used to sing together, but she still remembered nothing. He tried to get her to help him find their parents, whom he now assumed would also be in Hel somewhere, considering they had died together, but her eyes remained as empty as ever.

The only thing she reacted to was Lycka. The little bilgesnipe seemed to bring out some instinct still left in her, and she happily petted and held the tiny animal whenever he wanted. Finally Skurge settled for fetching a blanket from one of Hela’s beds to wrap around her shoulders and leaving her to hold the contently sleeping Lycka while he paced back and forth in front of the throne.

He had assumed they were ignoring him. _Ignoring him_. Like the self-centered idiot he was. This whole time the sister who had saved his life had been in Hel, and he had been bitter because she wouldn’t come find him in Valhalla. _Some hero he was_.

Sinking in that fun feeling of absolute uselessness and hopelessness, Skurge hardly noticed the grey guard running into the hall toward him from the deeper caves.

Before the dead Aesir could reach Skurge, however, a blade of black metal pierced him through the abdomen and pinned him to the floor. The other guards, stationed around the cave, quickly met the same fate. Behind the first guard, from the same tunnel he had come through, Hela, Goddess of Death, entered the cavern.

“Oh, there you are.” the former Queen of Hel said, sort of matter of factly, as if she had been looking for him to tell him some moderately interesting piece of news.

Taking an involuntary step back, Skurge almost stumbled. He remembered the last time he’d seen the goddess up close, her crazy scream and burning eyes as she tried to kill him in Valhalla, not yet aware that that was impossible. He remembered her killing him for real. He pulled Sumarbrand from his back.

“No need for that.” Hela made a slight dismissive gesture as she walked toward him, stroking the stone of the throne as she passed it. Behind her, Fenris stalked out of the tunnels that held the palace. “I come in peace. Or whatever it is my brother says to start these conversations. I only want to talk, maybe?”

Skurge lifted his sword a little higher. “That’s why you need Fenris?”

She laughed. Her cold, poisonous laugh. “I don’t _need_ Fenris. I simply felt bad about him being locked in a cell deep underground and all that. I convinced Loki to let me out with that excuse, but that’s not the real reason I’m here.”

The Goddess of Death had come uncomfortably close now. Skurge moved firmly between her the two sleeping children by the cave’s wall, trying not to think about how pointless it was. He had beaten her little brother with the element of surprise, but Hela was on a whole different level. The goddess had killed _all_ of the Einherjar. How had Frigga expected him to be able to handle this?

“So hostile, Skurge.” she reached out and touched the tip of Sumarbrand with long pale fingers ( _exactly like her brothers_ ). “We were friends once, and I am here as a friend now, to help.”

“What is with you Odinsbarn and friendship?” Skurge shook his head at her. “We were never, ever friends. I’m closer to friends with _Loki_ than with you.”

“You are, are you?” she smiled, predator in every line of her face. “And, pray tell, what did my brother say he’d do about _that_?”

Hela pointed behind him, toward Ingi and Lycka. Skurge shuddered. “He said he’d help.”

“Of course he did.” the former Queen of Hel looked like she was trying to make a sympathetic face, but was failing miserably. “He is the God of Lies after all. Although, to be fair, this time he wasn’t lying on purpose.” 

“What are you talking about?” demanding answers was maybe not the wisest thing to do in this particular scenario, but Skurge had yet to be accused of being wise.

“Did the God of Lies tell you what you helped him realize?” the Goddess of Death was a cat playing with a mouse, and she clearly loved it. “No, of course not. My brother is _very_ secretive. I’ll tell you. What he realized was how to save everyone in Hel. Your sweet little sister -”

“Older sister.” Skurge corrected, earning the highest eye roll in the history of the Nine Realms.

“Your _older sister_ could have her memories and freedom, her _soul_ back.” the goddess continued, only the slightest trace of annoyance in her voice. “All I need to do, is stab Garm with that shiny sword you have so conveniently brought here.”

 _Bane Bringer_ Garm had called him. “You want me to help you kill someone? No. That’s never happening again.”

“This is a very, very inconvenient time for you to grow a spine. You do understand that right?” Hela sighed and fell into one of the chairs of the large dining table, picking at a plate of grapes with a look of utter disgust on her face. Skurge was about to argue that the spine had been around for at least the past fortnight when she finally continued. “You could have saved everyone, been a real hero.”

“Uhm. That’s nice. Really. But I think I’ll pass.”

“Oh. I see how it is now.” his declaration of non-allegiance only deterred her for a moment, and then she was smiling again. “You think my brother will save her. Sorry to disappoint, but that’s not going to happen. I told you what Loki realized. Garm holds everyone here captive - destroy her, free the dishonorable dead.” 

She spread her arms out in a sweeping gesture, encompassing all of Hel as he rose and stalked back over toward him. “But Loki won’t kill Garm. He told me so himself. My adorable little brother thinks he has bonded with the monster - or something. And he is going to let everyone in Hel suffer for eternity rather than break that bond.”

Hela snorted. The former Queen of Hel was close now, close enough to touch him if she wanted, and Skurge didn’t remember her moving. “Garm isn’t alive. I should know, I’m the Goddess of Death. She is a construct, and I’m not going to _kill_ her, I'm simply going to destroy her. And then, your sister is going to wake up and _smile_.

Skurge looked over at Ingi, still asleep, wrapped in a blanket with Lycka in her lap. Her boney hands clutching at the soft blanket as though it was her last lifeline. How many other children like that suffered here, punished for not living up to insane standards of honor?

Skurge remembered Garm in his mind. Warm and kind and lonely. 

Heroes save children. Heroes put the good of the many above the good of the few. Heroes make sacrifices. Heroes _don’t_ sacrifice other people. Heroes _don’t_ hand weapons to their enemies.

“Trust me.” the Goddess of Death asked.

Frigga had asked him to protect Hel. She had told him be would make the right decisions. She’d asked him to guard the Underworld from her homicidal children. Frigga had gifted him Sumarbrand because she thought he had proven himself worthy. Did the All-Mother know the true horror of Hel?

 _Bane Bringer_ Garm had called him. 

Skurge gave Hela the sword destined to stop Ragnarok.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was like the hardest part of the chapter. This note I mean. Like. What does one write after- well- _that_? I just. Damn. I hope it sort of makes sense to somebody other than me..? He had to do it. He did. You don’t abandon your sister. Even if you have to do. Uh. Morally questionable things…
> 
> Good news! Yes! Good news! Due to my long… “hiatus”... I’ve had a lot of time to think, and I now have a plan. A goal! A _theme_! Hm? What is that? You thought I already did? Nope. Everything until now has been 100% improv. (Perhaps the random side-quests tipped you off?) But no more! Now things will get worse for a while (Yes. Worse.) and then they’ll get better - like in a real story! Get excited! And maybe stick around for the next one?
> 
> And everyone who already did the thing and stuck around for this one: kudos and love to all ya’ll! You brighten my life!


	8. Himinn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hela does not do well in exile. Thrown aside and left for dead once more, the Goddess of Death is more than ready to take back what is hers. But the price for a throne is steep, and for the first time in millenia, she isn’t sure her birthright is worth the things she has had to do to get it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boom! Gold star for me! Passed the Bechdel test! Just like that! In chapter 8… More than 50 thousand word in… Uhm… Well… For the record, I’ve actually haven’t passed the reverse-bechdel test either. Sooo. I dunno. It’s like. The boys won’t stop talking about Hela and Frigga, and the girls wouldn’t stop talking about Loki and Odin. It’s weird. And kinda irrelevant. Moving on.
> 
> This is, as always, dedicated to @MagicalGirlHell, the Captain America of storytelling. And. Uh. I guess. **Warning!** Did I say last chapter was rough? Yeah. This is worse. Way worse. This is me dissecting the concept of being Goddess of Death using swords and axes. Seriously. If you don’t feel like reading about violence and/or people dying, don’t read this. I promise next chapter will go over the important bits of this one, so you won’t miss any relevant plot points.
> 
> That being said, you might want to scroll down to the last third and read the story Frigga tells. Not because it is important or anything, but because I put stupid amounts of effort into it. It’s written in the style of an english translation of the Poetic Edda, using those weird rhyme-less stanzas that you really have to be more of a poet then I am to replicate. I’d really love it if people commented thoughts and improvements on that bit.
> 
> And now, let’s tell a telling of sadness and woe.

The cave was empty. Deep beneath the mountains that separated the Lands of the Dead, nothing lived, and nothing moved. How far down the tunnels went, even Loki didn’t know, and neither he nor his sister cared much to find out. In the cave where they had made camp, dim green light lit walls of stone, and in the distance the quiet _drip_ of water broke the silence, along with Hela’s own breath. Of all the things Hela hated, she hated silence most. Silence, and then boredom.

In the prison her father had built her, deep in the spaces between realms, there had only ever been silence. Endless, empty landscape of stone had stretched all around, no matter how far one walked. Nothing lived there save Hela. There wasn’t even weather. In that prison nothing happened, and nothing changed. Every day was the same, a hundred thousand days over.

If Hela could, she would kill her little brother when he came back. _If he came back_. No. None of that. Loki would come back. He’d come back last time. _How long had it been?_

The magic didn’t make a sound, it never did. One second there was nothing, and then the God of Lies stepped into the cave, obnoxious grin on his face. He’d left with an annoyed sigh, and now he came back _grinning_. Hela smiled back. The silence was gone.

“You look like you had fun?” she queried, letting all of her no-neglectable displeasure bleed into her voice. People weren’t meant to leave Queens alone in dark caves, after all. It wasn’t seemly.

“Oh. I did.” because if Loki was only one thing, it was _cryptic_.

“Are you going to tell me about it, or do you want me to insert my own story?” the Goddess of Death tilted her head to the side, mock threatening. “My version involves expensive hair products.”

He snorted, but relented nonetheless. “I figured out Garm’s riddle.” 

Well. That explained why he looked so terribly pleased with himself. The fallen prince had been pretending not to be frustrated about that one for weeks.

“Fun.” Hela told him, a small, polite nod and slight smile signaling that she indeed appreciated the effort he’d put into solving the mystery - despite her sarcastic tone. She couldn’t get too clingy after all. “What was the answer? Another metaphor?” 

“It was, actually.” the smile grew even wider. “She is the Keeper of the Dead and the Holder of Memories.”

Hela raised an eyebrow at him. “Didn’t we already know that?”

“Well. Yes.” he faltered only for a second. “But what does that _mean_?”

“That she keeps the dishonorable dead in Hel?”

“Also true.” the God of Lies agreed. “But not really in the literal sense. Have you ever seen anyone attempt to leave Hel? No? They just don’t. Why?”

“She stops them from leaving, before they even try?” she found herself frowning, engaged in the mystery despite herself. Why didn’t anyone try to leave? Why had the Disir stayed? Why had _Odin_ never tried to leave? Surely they should have at least tried?

“It’s a metaphor.” Loki added helpfully.

“She’s what stops them from leaving.” Hela repeated. “Not physically. She stops even the thought, the idea, of leaving. She is a monster. A monster that stops people from doing what they want, from being free. She’s - Oh. That’s stupid.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Loki laughed, so unbelievably happy at seeing her figure out the same thing he had. Maybe they didn’t just look alike after all. “She is doubt. Fear. Regret. Self-loathing. People wake up in Hel, and know instinctively that they belong, that they are dishonorable, that they are not _worthy_. And then they torture themselves over it for eternity. Building Garm, the monster, for themselves. Beating themselves to insanity. It so bloody poetic I want to throw up.” 

“It’s so bloody Asgardian I want to throw up.” the heir to Asgard agreed. Loki laughed again.

There was a beat of silence, and in that beat, Hela realized something else. Something Loki wasn’t saying, but certainly knew. If Garm disappeared, everyone would be free. Free of the throne, free of Hel, free of Odin. They could win. But only if Garm died.

“And then, what?” Hela, very casually, broke the ominous silence. “You just left to do some soul searching? You didn’t _do_ anything?”

Loki, the little bastard, shrugged at her. _Younger siblings._

“So can we leave now then?” she tried instead. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate this damp, dark cave, but I do sort of miss my palace.”

“That’s -” the God of Lies began reluctantly.

“What? Daddy left hours ago, we both felt it. It’s time to take back our Realm.” Oh. _Our_. They both heard it, and they both knew it was a true. Whatever had made Loki hesitate disappeared in an instance.

Apparently Hela’s subconscious was a better manipulator than she was. Or. Well. She decided to chalk it up to that and leave any self-reflection for later.

“Where to first, my Queen?” her little brother asked, with that little sarcastic bow he liked to make. 

She smiled. “I would like my pet back.”

\---

Hela had come to rather enjoy her little brother. He was infuriating to be sure, childish, vain, annoyingly cryptic, and a complete know-it-all, but he was - for lack of better word - _family_. Or, maybe not family. Something else with that same connotation of closeness, but without the backstabbing, lying, imprisoning-for-eternity aftertaste. The Goddess of Death couldn’t really explain it, and didn’t much care to try, but she liked having him around.

Of course, Realm conquering Queens couldn’t prioritise things like that. Garm needed to die, and it didn’t matter if that made Loki a little sad. It wasn’t as though she was killing _him_. She would obviously do that too, if it came to it. But for now, she was barely even betraying him. He’d betrayed her, in the past, many times, and she’d forgiven him. This was much the same. Not that she needed forgiveness.

Hela needed her army back. Not just the mindless horde she would get if she took back the throne. Not a force that could be taken from her again just as easily. Odin would only get to defeat her by putting his fat arse on her throne once. Hela didn’t make the same mistake twice. She needed a real army, of willing, thinking soldiers. Soldiers truly loyal to her. Like the Disir of Hel. Or her Fenris.

The All-Father had locked her beautiful companion in the the depths beneath the Keep and the Hall of the Throne. There were cells down there, holes in the stone fitted with thick bars of some metal even Hela had been unable to break. Just as all other things in the Keep, the cells were fitted perfectly to her, and she had soon found that the only things that could get the bars open were keys made by her power. How Odin had planned to get his prisoners out after he had locked them in was a mystery - though perhaps he had simply meant to keep them here for all eternity.

Ordinarily, Hela would be horrified at the thought of someone doing such a thing to her Fenris, but for now, the situation was rather favourable. To free the wolf, Loki had to bring Hela along, out of the deep caves and straight to where Skurge, carrying Sumarbrand, the only sword that could kill something like Garm, was waiting. It couldn’t be more perfect for an ambush.

When the two dead Odinsbarn stepped out of the darkness into the prison-caves, the Goddess of Death stabbed her brother in the back.

Loki fell forward, hands reaching for the long, black blade pointing out of his chest. He turned as he fell, ending up on his side on the stone floor. He tried to speak, but with a sword through his lungs that was rather difficult. He grappled for the blade for a moment longer, poison green eyes staring into hers in utter betrayal as he died.

He’d known. He’d known she knew what killing Garm would do, and he’d assumed she wouldn’t do it. Had _trusted_ her not to. _Foolish little brother._

In the cell next to them, Ulf the Wolfslayer, leader of the Berserkers, laughed.

“Yes, my Queen! Stab, stab, stab!” he cheered. “I always knew that little snake would betray us! They all do in the end! Now free me and let us kill them all!”

The exiled Queen of Hel didn’t afford him so much as a glance. She turned her back on him and set another dozen swords in her brother, to slow down the regeneration as much as possible. Then, ignoring all other prisoners, she freed Fenris, and, as quickly as she had arrived, she left. 

She didn’t need to see her brother lying dead on the floor. She had a realm to conquer.

\---

Skurge gave her Sumarbrand. 

She watched him look at his sister and thought of Loki. And that thought helped her figure out what to tell him to get him to do it. 

Sibling bonds were strong, but Hela was stronger. Hela was always stronger. She was the Goddess of Death.

\---

The sun was setting over Hel. The shadows returned to the desert as it fell, dark boulders and rock formations once again casting tall black prints on the sand. A wind was blowing in from the north, gaining in strength with every step she took through the desert. With the wind came clouds, and the setting sun covered those clouds in blood red paint. 

If Loki was there, he’d say it was a metaphor. But Loki didn’t matter.

When the Goddess of Death reached Garm, the wolf was standing, waiting for her. The slumping, bored bend to her neck was gone. Somehow ready for battle, the wolf stood proudly at her post, eyeing Hela as she approached. The red of the sun reflected in her fur and her eyes, making her look more terrifying than ever. 

“ _Goddess of the Dead._ ” the monster spoke in her mind, a strange finality to her voice. “ _It comes to an end at last._ ”

“Don’t tell me you can see the future as well.” Hela scoffed. “I am rather tired of prophecies.”

“ _Nothing of the sort, Ruler of us all._ ” the great wolf turned and looked at the sun, absurdly large as it balanced on the horizon. She probably also thought it was a metaphor. They were so alike, the wolf and her brother. “ _But even a monster such as me can feel the inevitable._ ”

“That’s disappointing.” the exiled Queen sighed. “I was hoping for more of a fight.”

“ _A fight you will get, Queen of Ashes._ ” Garm growled, a deep, primal sound, and - Hela realized - the first _sound_ she’d ever heard her make. “ _For even doomed beasts may do battle with death._ ”

The Goddess of Death drew her swords, Sumarbrand in one hand, a black blade of her own making in the other, and charged at the monster.

Right before Garm’s feet, Hela jumped, raising the blades above her head as she did, aiming for the beast’s eye. Garm met her in her attack, catching the black sword with her teeth as the red one sunk into the flesh of her mouth. Hela, with an infinite number of weapons at her disposal, discarded the caught sword and pulled another from nothing as she launched herself past the wolf’s head and onto her back, sinking sword after sword into her neck.

Garm howled in pain, and the noise echoed off the mountains behind them into a thousand screams. Attempting to get rid of the assailant on her neck, the gigantic wolf rolled over her back in the sand, forcing Hela to jump away, but also forcing the Queen’s black blades deeper into her skin. 

The battling titans ended up in reversed positions, Hela with her back to the mountains, and Garm facing the Gate to Hel. The wolf growled again, and this time, it was she who charged first, maws opening wide to swallow the murderous goddess whole. 

Hela stood her ground, Sumarbrand raised, as the monster charged. On the very last second, she ducked, allowing Garm to miss by millimeters, and, now perfectly positioned below the wolf, jumped with her red, world-ending sword.

Sumarbrand sunk into Garm’s rib cage with an ease Hela would not have expected even of her own perfect blades. Blood rained on the two as gravity pulled goddess and sword back to the ground. Above them, the Guardian of the Underworld screamed as she fell.

“ _I- I didn’t realize -_ ” the wolf stuttered in Hela’s mind. Her breaths came in short, stunted bursts, and her pupils dilated as she stared at the goddess covered in her own deep red blood. Her blood was the same color as the sunset. “ _Dying hurts so much._ ”

“ _Yes,_ ” Hela accepted the mindlink before she had time to understand that she had done it. “ _I burned._ ”

“ _You did._ ” Garm agreed almost absent-mindedly. Her blood was flowing out across the sand, color on the grey. “ _You came to Valhalla._ ”

Hela had come to Valhalla. _Where would Garm go?_ Was it as she had told Skurge, that a thing that wasn’t really alive couldn’t really die? Would she simply cease to exist? Disappear as if she had never been? Die as mortals did? 

“ _So will you._.” Hela didn’t know what made her say it, but suddenly she was saying it. “ _Those who die in honorable combat will feast together in the ancient halls, hunt on the golden fields and sing around the thousand fires._ ”

Garm’s breathing calmed, and Hela felt the wolf smile in the bond. “ _That is a nice sentiment, Queen-at-the-End. But we both know -_ ”

When Garm died she didn’t fade to stardust, or ashes. The ancient wolf simply stopped. She drew a last, ragged breath, and then she didn’t breath again. Her eyes remained open, but all feeling in them faded. In Hela’s mind, the bond with the wolf snapped abruptly, broken like a twig. It hurt, like dying.

_That’s a nice sentiment._

\---

_Two thousand years ago, the sun was shining on Alfheim. The brilliant yellow orb sparkled in the clear, blue sky. Beneath it, emerald green grass blew softly in the wind. And all across those green fields, elves lay dying._

_The colorful uniforms of the Ljosalfar glittered in the sunlight, marred in blood only a shade lighter than the grass. Their beautifully adorned armor lay shattered around them, and they screamed as their lives leaked out to nothing._

_They had fallen were they stood, before even the first charge, as tall, black blades tore out of the fertile ground beneath their formations. Now the war was over before it had even begun, and in the sky above, dark clouds of crows gathered._

_In the center of that field of death stood a girl-child. Her dark hair catching in the wind, her head tilted slightly to the side and green eyes squinted in thought as she listened to the screams._

_Behind the girl, a warrior and King came into view, his huge beard smeared in elven blood and his eyes dancing with concern._

_”Daughter,” he called, and the girl turned around._

_”Why are they screaming, Father?” she asked, a look of fake puzzlement on her face, the smile of a child stealing cookies underneath. “If it is as you say, that the brave who die must go to Valhalla, why are these brave warriors cursing their deaths?”_

_”The Ljosalfar do not go to Valhalla, child. Only Aesir do.” the King looked tired, and confused._

_”Then where do they go?”_

_”No-one knows, Hela.” the old King told his heir. “No-one knows.”_

\---

When Loki caught up to her, Hela was still standing by Garm’s body.

The sun had set long ago. The enormous red orb that had lit the world had fallen beneath the horizon, and the wind had picked up speed, blowing away the clouds. It was darker than it had ever been in Hel. No strange, unseen source of light lit the grey sands, no mist encompassed the desert in its embrace. Instead, the sky was cold, black, and covered in tiny, far away stars. There was no moon over Hel.

The God of Lies didn’t say a word. He walked up to the gigantic wolf, placing a hand in her rich, black fur. In her mind, Hela felt him searching, flailing in the dark with his magic, looking for anything. Anyone.

Hands trembling only slightly, he closed the monsters eyes.

“Garm of No-Mothers, Oldest of Wolves. I bid you take your place in the halls of Valhalla, where the brave shall live forever. Nor shall we mourn but rejoice for those that have died the glorious death.” Loki whispered the prayer, clearly only meant for Garm’s unhearing ears, before he stepped away.

With a snap to his fingers, fire roared alive around the wolf’s body. Green flames chased each other across Garm’s limp frame until it was swallowed by the heat. Emerald tongues licked at the dark sky. Sparks joined the stars. 

Without a glance back, Loki walked away.

“Always so dramatic, brother.” Hela called after him, fake nonchalance in every syllable.

The God of Lies turned around and looked at her. Just looked, like it was the first time he ever saw her. 

Then he charged, knives in his hands. Hela blocked him easily.

“You will not have this realm.” he spat as he backed away, manic hate in his eyes. She thought he must have looked like this when the rest of his family had betrayed him. When his world fell apart in lies. “You will have no realm, Goddess of Ashes. None will bow to you and none will know your name. And I will burn everything - everyone - to make sure of it.”

He disappeared again, green magic leaving nothing behind but the still raging fire. Hela would have told him he was being dramatic again, but the words swelled and clogged her throat. 

_Then where do they go?_

\---

The throne hall of Hela’s Keep was filled to the brim with people. Sitting, standing, _talking_ , the dishonorable dead had gathered there. 

Their clothes and skin was just as gray as it had ever been, but the change was still palpable. People smiled, frowned, laughed. They looked at each other, and they saw each other. They knew, remembered and felt. Hela may have freed them for her own purposes, but she was still rather pleased with their happiness. If this was not a _good deed_ , then what was? She had done the right thing, the thing a Queen should do for her people.

_Why do they curse their deaths?_

Gathering herself, the Queen of Hel put on her best smile and stepped out onto the platform holding the throne. Around her, the hall went silent.

“People of Hel,” Hela began, confidence radiating of her as she stood before the throne, a Dis on either side. “I am Hela, Goddess of Death and Queen of Hel, Odin’s firstborn daughter, first Executioner of Asgard, and your Savior.”

She paused a moment for dramatic effect. “Garm, the monster that held you here and stole your memories, is Dead. You are all free. You're welcome.”

A confused pause followed by joublious cheering. She was pretty sure she could hear people chanting her name. This was the response she should have gotten when she returned to Asgard.

“Now,” the cheering stopped when the Queen spoke. “There is only one tiny little problem. You are all still stuck in Hel. Personally, I think you have all suffered quite enough. But the _heroes_ of Valhalla disagree. They believe you all deserve this, that you are dishonorable and unworthy.”

Angry shouts and murmurs rose from the crowd. They were not happy about that. Perfect. “If we want to go to Valhalla, we will have to _prove_ that we are worthy. We will have to take our rightful places there. Take them with swords and axes.”

Kill all who stand on our way. _Then where do they go?_

A new cheer, a more focused, bloodthirsty one, went up in the crowd, but before it could properly build, it was interrupted by a new voice.

“The girl is right,” a deep, strangely familiar voice boomed across the hall, silencing all other voices. “About all but one thing.”

Outside the alcove in the mountain, out on the starlit sand, stood a silhouette. As he walked into the cave, a battered old helmet with huge oxen horns and a long tattered cloak came into view.

“She is _not_ the rightful Queen of this Realm.” the figure laughed, and Hela knew him.

“Wolfslayer? What do you think you are doing?”

“Wolfslayer is what you are, little girl.” the warrior who had been general of her Berserkers spoke. “And I do thank you for that, but now it is time for you to step aside for your elders.”

“Elders?” now it was Hela’s time to laugh, incredulous. “I didn’t think you could get any crazier Ulf, but here we are. Now kneel before me and take back that _little girl_ comment, and I might forgive you. For old times sake.”

“But, little girl, I _am_ your elder.” he had reached the stairs to the throne, and now he turned to face the people. “I am Bor, son of Buri, first King of Asgard, Conqueror of Fire and Ice, and rightful ruler of all Realms - including this one.”

Oh. The whispers that filled the hall at that. Bor was legend. Bor was a god among gods. Almost nothing was known of him, save his greatness. Hela had never met her grandfather, and Odin rarely spoke of him, but they had several _very_ big statues of the god. He was a shadow, a myth. A King of Old, to be prayed to and worshiped.The dishonorable dead couldn’t believe it, and so they whispered - _Had he really been here, in Hel, all this time?_

“Yes,” the Aesir claiming ownership of all Realms confirmed for the whisperers. “I have rotted in this Realm for millenia, punished, just as you, for a single moment of my life, but now, thanks to my sweet little granddaughter here - I am free.”

He turned to Hela, and his crooked smile looked like hers, like Loki’s. His ice-blue eyes glittered like Thor’s, and his thick beard was just like Odin’s had once been. Without the grey depression of Hel, the resemblance was impossible to miss. Hela cursed under her breath.

“So you see, little girl,” the first King of Asgard laughed. “You’re the one who should bow to me.”

“Even if you are who you claim, old fool,” Hela matched and raises his haughty tone. “I took this seat, not by bloodright, but by my sword. If you want it, you’ll have to take it.”

“Very well, little girl,” Bor lifted his axe. “I shall.”

Behind her, Hela felt the Disir move slowly forward, and she stopped them with a gesture. Her people were Asgardian - they would not accept a Queen who would not fight her own battles. 

The dishonorable dead backed away from the area around the throne, leaving a half circle for the two would-be rulers. Hela stepped down the stairs slowly, deliberately, eyeing her opponent. She had left Sumarbrand behind in the desert, disliking the weight it suddenly held, even with all the blood wiped off, and so she pulled a black axe from the air for her weapon.

The two circled each other, identical bloodthirsty smiles on their faces.

Bor charged first, swinging his axe above his head, attempting to slam it down into Hela. The Goddess of Death stepped easily aside, lifting her own axe to strike. 

When Hela’s axe fell, Bor’s came up to meet it, the two blades slamming hard into one-another. Grandfather and Granddaughter locked eyes for a moment, before the dance began anew. Swings, blocks and quick avaisions blurred into a dance. Hela’s favorite dance.

Granddaddy Bor was good, to be sure, but he was not better than Hela. No-one was. (Except maybe Frigga, but that was a different story). And it was less than a minute before she saw the opening.

Bor was lifting his axe again, swinging from the right this time, leaving his left almost completely undefended. _Watch that hubris old man_. Hela thought before she struck. Upward, straight into his ribcage, into his heart. Or. Well.

_I didn’t realize. Dying hurts so much._

The world blurred. Hela felt herself fall forward, having lost her balance as she held her strike short. Then, she felt an axe burying itself in her back.

It didn’t hurt - dying in the Land of the Dead wasn’t supposed to - and yet Hela screamed as she died. Screamed in frustration. 

On the dias with the throne, her Disir surged forward, only to fall to the ground, thin, black daggers buried in their bodies. The Captain was the only one to avoid the blade aimed for her, so Loki killed her himself, appearing out of thin air behind her and slicing her throat. 

As Hela faded into golden light, Bor sat down on her throne, with her brother at his side. Smiling. She screamed another curse.

_Then where do they go?_

\---

Exiled once again, the rightful Queen of Hel awoke in Valhall.

The garden she appeared in was the same one she had first arrived in after Surtur’s fire had burned her away. The garden was beautiful, just like all gardens in Valhalla. A small circular pond filled the middle, surrounded by sweet little buches carrying white and yellow flowers. The ground was covered in green, lush grass safe for where windling pathways of pawed stone cut through, and the stone walls came to life in ivy.

All around the goddess, obscuring the green from view, stood Einherjar. About six dozen of them, in gleaming gold armor, stood stationed in circles around her. On the stone beneath her feet were painted witch circles and before her Odin All-Father and Frigga All-Mother were waiting, already chanting, lighting the runes with magic.

“Well, well,” she said, voice straining under the weight of their magic. “Quite an impressive welcome. I was rather disappointed at the lack of reception last time. This is much, much better.”

She laughed, and even to her own ears, it sounded broken. “Did my baby brother warn you I would come or something?”

She would have said more, taunted them further, but darkness was taking her again.

\---

Loki had betrayed her. Double and triple crossed her in every way possible. He had gathered all her enemies against her and brought her down. He was, she realized belatedly, the only one who could ever have done so. The only one smart enough. The only she had ever let close enough.

That thought was what woke the exiled Queen, and things did not get better from there.

She was chained. Thick manacles around her wrists, connected to even thicker chains, pulled her arms out sideways above her head and suspended her in the air. When she opened her eyes, she took in a large circular chamber. Doorless, windowless walls built from creamy white stone, ceiling disappearing into darkness, floor covered in the witchmarkings from earlier, binding her power. They had thrown her in a bloody well.

Last time she had been betrayed, she had been cast out, exiled in darkness. This time, they had locked her up, imprisoned and bond her. How long? How long would it be? How long in silence this time?

 _No-one knows._ A malicious voice answered.

“Enough.” Hela demanded. She was done hearing voices. She had survived last time, she would survive this. She hadn’t even _tried_ to get out yet.

The Goddess of Death pulled on her bonds with everything she had, trying to force her arms together, to break the chains. Beneath her, the runes lit up, pushing her strength down and away from her, forcing her to stop. There was no escape on physical strength alone. What other options did she have? Did she have any?

 _Even doomed beasts may do battle with death._ Another voice, sad and ancient, whispered.

She’d been free for how long? A mere moment in comparison to the length of her lifespan. And now she was back again. Back in the silence.

 _Then where do they go?_ said the girl.

This was all Loki’s fault. The pathetic, miserable, little jotun runt who called himself her brother. The little monster who thought his whims and _feelings_ outweighed the struggle of entire realms. Who felt _betrayed_ , and so betrayed her a thousand times worse.

_That’s a nice sentiment, Queen-at-the-End. But we both know-_

Garm had needed to die. She was the prison that held the people of Hel. She was a monster that pointlessly tortured lost souls for eternity. She was evil. 

_But we both know-_

Hela had needed Garm dead, so she could have her rightful throne, all her rightful thrones. So she could rule as she was destined to do. So she could fulfill her birthright. So she could prove worthy. So she could prove her parents wrong. 

Where had Garm gone to?

_No-one knows._

“Enough!” her scream echoed off the cold stone walls.

“I haven’t even said anything yet?” her mother soft voice came in the silence. The Queen of Valhalla stood on the stone beneath her, just outside the witch circle. _Really mother, right now?_

“I don’t need you to say anything.” the Goddess of Death tried to cover her embarrassment in haughty surety. It went better than expected, haughty was her best mask after all. “I already know- ”

“Yes, daughter, you have every right to turn me away.” Frigga cut her off unceremoniously, that sad look from the first invasion back in her eyes. _Oh. Your_ sorry _, are you mother?_ See who cares. “But your brother- When Loki is angry, he does- dangerous things. The Aesir he has allied himself with is Bor, an ancient King of incredible power and -”

“And just happens to be our dear old grandfather,” Hela interrupted her mother in turn, not liking the somber, serious tone she was using - as if explaining something to a child. “Yes, I am aware, Mother. What is your point?”

“Bor is a monster.” the All-Mother exhaled loudly after she spoke, as if it had taken her great effort to say it.

“Oh. Like I’m a monster?” the imprisoned Queen snorted. “No worries then. Loki knows how to handle monsters.”

“Not like you.” her mother shook her head and began to pace back and forth across the cave, seemingly searching for words. “Might I tell you a story, daughter?”

Hela tried to shrug, only to realize that that was more or less impossible with her arms tied the way they were. Instead, she grudgingly nodded, and Frigga began her telling.

_“_

_In times long past, the world was young,_  
_No light yet shone, no bird yet called,_  
_Two realms lived then, by Ginnungagap,_  
_On opposite sides of the void, they rested._

_Muspel and Nifel, they were called,_  
_Named for fire, named for ice,_  
_Great peoples lived there, prosper endless,_  
_And King he was, Ymir first among them._

_Their age ended, as all ages do,_  
_With the birth of another, Bor was he born,_  
_Slayer of Giants, ruler of mortals,_  
_The son of Buri, was born in the void._

_On the bones of the elders, a castle he built,_  
_Garden of the Aesir, there he dwelt,_  
_Ymir’s bane, for wife Bestla stole and took,_  
_A son he sired, the Hanged God._

_From Vanaheim, among the stars,_  
_Gullveig came, fair and quick,_  
_Princess of Vanir, to treat with Aesir strong,_  
_To make peace, her father willed._

_At the Hall of Hor, they struck her down,_  
_A thousand spears, pierced fair Gullveig,_  
_Three times they burned her, and left for dead,_  
_Heith they named her, who sought their home._

_To war they went then, the Aesir and Vanir,_  
_The worst war to touch the heavens, reigned then,_  
_Among the dead, a thousand men,_  
_All he burned Buri’s son, old and young alike._

_Truth of truths, there would be no Vanir now,_  
_If not for Bor's son, the One-eyed one,_  
_Treated with them he did, to be their King,_  
_To save their land, and marry their heir._

_Odin married in secret, Frigga of Vanir land,_  
_End the war they would, if not Bor heard tell,_  
_Traitor and betrayer, the King of Bones named his son,_  
_Threw him to the hole, be burned a traitor should._

_Bestla spoke, a thousand years of silence past,_  
_In the night, a daughter of Muspel sang,_  
_Before she struck, words in the ear of Bor,_  
_The King of Asgard, bleed out in his bed._

_New like Old, two realms united were,_  
_Ruled King Odin, All-Father called,_  
_At his side sat Frigga, Queen and Friend,_  
_Love millenia took, before the child of thunder._

_“_

“Yes, Mother, do tell me about your romantic nightly trysts with Odin.” Hela snorted. “That’ll give me something to contemplate for eternity.”

“Is that truly all you learned from my story, child?” the All-Mother was not impressed. “I fostered a wiser child then that.”

“Fine. I’ll play.” her daughter stared down at her with all the disdain she could muster. “I learned that Bor killed all the Giants of old, your sister and most of your people. I learned that Odin, the great white knight and savior, saved all your sorry hides from his oh, so terrible father, and I learned that you married him to pay for it. _Terribly interesting_. Really. Anything I missed?”

Frigga sighed. “You learned that Bestla saved us all by slicing her husband's throat.”

“Good for her, I say.” despite the casualness of her voice, Hela’s eyes narrowed, and her heart picked up speed. 

“Yes. Quite.” the Queen of Valhalla answered, her thoughts clearly elsewhere. She was still pacing, turning her hands over around each other. Another few heartbeats passed before she made up her mind, and then, with a look of calm certainty on her face, the All-Mother took a single step forward and released every rune in the cell. The letters glowed green, and then faded to nothing.

The blond Queen took the dark one’s eyes and held them. “You are what you were made, you and your father both, and it is hard to teach old dogs to sit, but not impossible. _Be better_ , daughter, if only to spite us.”

And with that, Frigga’s image flickered and faded out of existence, glowing green as it did. Hela stared at the spot where she had been, bafflement quickly trading place with anger. _These mages always getting the last word._

The Queen of Hel of course had no time for such childish anger. She needed to get out - fast. Before the goddess who taught her to walk changed her mind and decided she needed to be locked up after all.

Once again, the Goddess of Death pulled on her bonds, and with no magic to stop her, the chains snapped like the thinnest rope. As they broke she fell toward the floor, but feeling her power returning in full, the exiled Queen pulled on the deep strength in her that had once been granted by Asgard and now came from _somewhere else_ , letting a huge black spear rise from the ground to meet her. As she passed the spear on her way down, Hela grabbed hold of one of its sharp spikes and rose with it upward, toward the ceiling hidden in darkness.

\---

The ceiling of the cell was, as it turned out, also the floor of the great hall of the Valkyries. When Hela burst through, gigantic spear in tow, they reacted remarkably quickly. Only about two second were wasted staring at the massive, dark blade before the honorable Ladies of Battle were over her. They had clearly not been slacking of, despite their deaths.

There had to have been some form of official meeting taking place in the chamber before the sudden appearance of the Queen of Hel, for after those two seconds of shock there were almost a hundred Valkyries charging at her. They were _not_ , however, wearing their armor, or riding their thrice cursed winged horses, and Hela’s power was returning to her with renewed force. They had not been able to beat her at full strength, so this, this a Queen could handle.

With a sweeping motion, the Goddess of Death donned her crown, horns forming around her skull with familiar weight. It took less than a flick of her wrist to create seven blades, and only one other to throw them all outward, each blade hitting an approaching Valkyrie. She repeated the motion as more and more of the female warriors closed in.

The sounds of war filled the air as the Valkyries roared orders and battle cries, and blades clashed against blades. Hela danced with it, falling into the rhythm of the fight. When a few warriors finally made it through her defences, and locked swords with her in truth, she smiled at them in welcome, happy to duel, happy to fight. One by one she defeted the Valkyries.

In the pause that occured when all the Valkyries who had originally been in the hall had fallen, and their reinforcements had yet to arrive, there was a moment of silence. No-one cursed their gods or howled in pain. In the Land of the Dead, that suffering was over.

 _That’s a nice sentiment._ The wolf smiled.

Without a glance back, Hela turned and left. She was tired of fighting. Rather than take any of the existing exits, which were all probably teaming with Valkyries, the Goddess of Death made her own in the north wall. From there, she sprinted for the stables.

 _Then where do they go?_ The girl tilted her head.

At the far edge of the camp, the exiled Queen found the grand white horses almost completely unattended. She killed what Valkyries guarded them before they knew she was even there and climbed the closest horse. She remembered riding them from her youth, when she had trained with Asgard’s foremost warriors.

 _Dying hurts so much._ Everyone suffers.

The winged horse threw itself into the air at her command, and in a moment, Hela was flying. The feeling of complete freedom didn’t last long, as the Valkyries where soon on her tail, following her across the winds on their own steeds. 

Hela could not outrun them. Not on a pegasus that wasn’t truly her own. She could not stand and fight. She didn’t like to think on why, but she knew she didn’t want to. Watching the green of the forest flow by beneath her, the Queen of Hel made a split second decision, leaned of her horse, and fell. 

_No-one knows._ And then disappears.

When she had died in Valhalla, she had woken up in Hel. When she had died in Hel, she had woken up in Valhalla. Hela felt her bones break in an odd, painless way, and then the grey mist was carrying her away.

\---

_One thousand years ago, battle ended in Niflheim. All but one of the once great Valkyrie lay dead or dying beneath a sky of darkness. Their white armor pierced through with long, black blades, their horses bleeding out on dark rock. They had fought with everything they had, and now they had paid the ultimate price._

_In the middle of that slaughter, in the eye of the faded storm, stood a goddess in black and green. Around her, a portal was forming, one whose touch she had felt before. Niflheim could not hold the goddess, so the King had devised a new prison for her, one even further in the void. She had killed every Valkyrie to escape, and now it was all for nothing._

_Before her, the one remaining warrior, the only one not doomed to die, held her lover in her arms as life poured out of her body. Her dark eyes were empty, all the fire in them long dead. The last Valkyrie didn’t curse or scream. She didn’t even move as the portal took them, Queen and soldier both, and pulled them out of that reality._

_For a moment they were together, and then the spell ripped them apart, the Valkyrie falling to the bottom of the universe, the goddess trapped somewhere in between. On a lonely day, the goddess wished it were not so, wished she could have company in eternity, but then, she remembered, she was Goddess of Death._

\---

Hela awoke again just outside the Gate to Hel. The sky was still dark, the stars still sparkled, and that strange wind still howled. On the sand before her, Garm’s pyre had faded and gone out, leaving nothing but ashes. _Goddess of Ashes_ , Garm had called her, and Loki had said he’d burn everything.

“Garm of No-Mothers, Oldest of Wolves. I bid you take your place in the halls of Valhalla, where the brave shall live forever. Nor shall we mourn but rejoice for those that have died the glorious death.” Hela tried.

_That’s a nice sentiment. But we both know-_

Garm was gone, and sorry did nothing. _Do better_.

“You can’t do better when someone is dead.” the Goddess of Death told no-one in particular. Then, she walked across the sand and picked up Sumarbrand where she had left it, feeling that weight in her hands once more. Hela was the monster, and monsters are good for one thing only. At least splitting Bor’s skull might make her feel slightly less awful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah. Depressing. Sorry. I swear I wouldn’t have written this if I didn’t think it was necessary for the story. But I still feel bad about it...
> 
> Just one more chapter (I think) of bad left though. One more, and then stuff will start to get better instead. Promise. Until then: do I tag this for Major Character Death? Like. I think Garm is pretty major, but she’s also sort of an OC (like half of one maybe?) so does that count? Help the noob out here, please?
> 
> Next part, we’re going back to Loki again, and checking up on how Skurge feels about his general lifechoices. So. Uh. See ya?


End file.
